Journeys: Awakenings
by Mary6
Summary: Part Two of 'Journeys'. Follows 'Journeys: Promise to a Lady'. Alternate Season 6 and beyond, this is my version of Spike's journey. Winner: Shadows & Dust Awards: Judge's Choice & Outstanding Author. B/S with S/Dawn & S/Giles friendships.
1. Default Chapter

**Journeys by Mary **

~*~

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love. 

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

**Author's Notes/Summary/Rating**

'Awakenings' is Part Two of a multi-part series, 'Journeys' and follows Part One, 'Promise to a Lady'. If you've not yet read that, you probably should, or parts of this as well as future parts may well confuse you. Some plot points from early Season 6, even some scenes, and an occasional direct line of dialogue, have been downright stolen by me and incorporated into 'Awakenings'. I hope I've kept this to a minimum, but I'm sure there will be occasional eyebrow raising among readers, especially during Chapter One. A longer note from me following that chapter explains my reasoning in a little more depth, if anyone is remotely interested.

'Journeys' has angst, sex, blood play, and the occasional very bad word. Most of all, it has, I hope, love. However, the adult nature of this story does give it an overall rating of NC-17. For readers following the story at FF.net, chapters with material unsuited to FF.net policies will be posted in a edited form, or summarized there. Alternative addresses will be provided for readers who are old enough and wish to read the unedited version.

Feedback will not necessarily make the chapters appear any faster, but I've found it does inspire me to keep plugging away, and it _is lovely to receive. In other words, please send. My e-mail address is: MKStatz@aol.com. _

I'm going to try to continue to post at a sedate pace until I've completely finished the story. Then – watch out – because I promise I'll be sending out chapters much more quickly. 

**Disclaimer**

Joss Whedon, ME, UPN, WB, blah, blah, blah...The television programs, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel and all of the characters appearing in them belong to someone other than me. If they belonged to me, I'd – well, read and find out.

Mary

January 15, 2003   


**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

**Chapter One**

Screaming pain. 

Wrenched away. Torn apart. Torn _out._

No, no, no. _Please. Please._

What?_ What?_

Black. 

Night.

Too black. 

The complete absence of light.

Something soft, smooth.

Damp, musty smell.

Close.

Too close.

Too close, too close, too close. Too tight, can't move, can't breathe, can't see.

Trapped. _Trapped._

Terror.

Devastating, uncontrollable terror. Terror so overwhelming, so crippling in its intensity that thought was impossible. There was only blind instinct. Push, punch, fight, claw.  

_Imprisoned.___

Nails breaking, tearing away, wetness, blood.

Can't breathe, can't…breathe.

No air.

Dirt. Rocks, Falling. Into her face. Scream. Scream.

What? Where?

_Why?_

_Why? **Why?**_

Help me. Help me. _Help me._

_Oh help me. Please, **please**, help me…_

Dirt in her mouth, filling her mouth. 

Punch, claw, tear, rip, push.

Too much dirt. Too much. Falling on her. Covering her. 

_Burying her.___

Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe.

Trapped. Imprisoned. Terror. _Terror._

Buried, buried. No, No, please. Help me.

Reach. Which way? Where? 

Out, out, out. Reach. Higher, harder.

_Help me..._

_Please help me. Oh, please, please. _

Air. There – air. 

_Air._

Breathe. Breathe.

Why? _Why?_

Gone. Lost. Oh, god, the loss. It was screaming through every cell of her body.

And terror. Suffocating, soul destroying terror.

Terror that would haunt her for the rest of her – life. 

~*~

Across town, at the base of an unstable tower, a small figure twitched.

It was dark. At first he was so relieved to be out of the blinding light he'd been trapped in that he only felt thankful. Until he realized why it was so dark. 

He was blind. 

And in pain. Moving carefully, he guessed that about half the bones in his body were broken.

He used his long dormant powers to take stock of his surroundings. He was somewhere familiar, somewhere still humming with latent power. Ah, yes, the tower. The site of what should have been his greatest victory, and had instead been witness to his most ignominious defeat.

With painful slowness he pulled his broken body across the rough ground until he came up against something hard. Brick. A wall. Good enough. He would stay there, huddled amid the general rubble and let his bones mend.

And he would plan.

~*~

She was scared. Really, really scared. 

Spike had left her here, tucked safely out of sight. He'd handed her a stake and a knife, and told her not to move, not to breathe. He'd come right back. Two or three minutes. No more. 

Don't move. Don't breathe.

Stay.

What kind of demons were those? They were awful. Really scary. And totally gross.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Hurry up, Spike. Hurry up.

There was a noise. She froze. She hadn't moved a muscle since Spike left, but she still froze, and the fear increased in intensity, making her nauseous. She swallowed. Just take a deep breath. Oh, _eeeww__. So, okay, don't take a deep breath. Don't breathe at all._

Oh, god.

Right there. It was right there. Just on the other side of those garbage cans.

_Right there.___

She squeezed her eyes shut. _Spike._ Please come. Please, please, please.

Save me.

Another noise.

A – sob?

Or, maybe – a moan?

Her eyes flew open. Was someone in danger? Had those – _things – hurt someone? Did someone need help? How could she help? She was only fifteen! How could she –? How?_

_Her sister had been saving the world when she was fifteen._

That's different. She was the Slayer. Superpowers, remember? You're just a – well, a mystical blob of energy. But you don't have any special powers – at least none that you know of, or know how to use. And how unfair was that, anyway? She bet if she knew how to control them, she would have really cool powers, like, um, flying, or laser beam eyes, or breathing new life into things with her golden breath, or mind reading, or something even better that could totally save the world, and not have anything to do with destroying it.

Don't, Dawn! She yelled at herself, silently, pushing away thoughts of her unknown past with Glory.

You're not evil, you're not evil, you're not evil.

Even chanting it didn't always help much.

Just focus, focus.

Couldn't she at least have some kind of power that could get her out of this alley and safely home? That whole flying thing would be really handy to have right now.

Don't be so bloody stupid! You don't need any superpowers. Just wait for Spike. And if someone is in trouble just a few feet away from you, all you have to do is pull them in here with you 'til Spike gets back to save both of you. And you don't need any lame-o superpowers for that!

Who was putting all these rescuey thoughts in her head, anyway? And could she please make them stop doing it? _Right now?_

She peeked out. Nothing, nothing – oh, there. A foot. Two feet. You're laying on the ground in an alley. What did you think you were going to see? Feet. Little feet. Like size four and a half or five or something. Tiny feet wearing – wearing the same black shoes that Buffy had been wearing when they'd buried her.

Dawn squeezed her eyes shut again, then reopened them. There was another muffled sound, and – oh god, oh god, oh god.

_It was Buffy._

Her dead sister had squatted down, huddling against the wall not five feet from her, and Dawn could see her clearly. She'd never seen that abjectly terrified and lost look on her sister's face before, but it was still her.

_Buffy.___

_How could it possibly be Buffy? It couldn't be, could it?_

_Could it?  _

Get a grip, Dawn, she told herself. It's not like anything weird ever happens in your bizarro little corner of the world! You're the poster child for Anything-But-Normal.

_But still, it couldn't _**_really__ be Buffy… Could it?_**

Dawn stared. Shoes, stockings, dress. She'd chosen them herself. She should know.

Her sister glanced up, their eyes met, and Dawn _knew._

_Buffy.___

_Oh, god, it really ****__was__ Buffy._

She heard the roar of a motorcycle, the yelling of those demon bikers. They were coming closer. Spike wasn't back yet. And Buffy was not hidden. Oh god, oh god. She didn't have time to think about the utter impossibilities of the situation. She didn't even know how she'd kept herself from crying out when she'd recognized her sister.

Help me, help me, help me. 

_I can't do this. I can't. I can't. I can't._

_Please, oh-Great-and-Powerful-Inner-Conscience, don't make me. Don't…_

_Just do it – go! _**_Now!___**

Dawn darted out from her hiding place, grabbed her apparently no-longer-dead sister's hand and raced back into the movie theater she and Spike had come out of not fifteen minutes ago, pulling an uncommunicative Buffy along with her.

~*~

She heard the door slam shut, followed immediately by Spike's frantic voice calling for her.

"Dawn! Dawn!" 

Oh god, she thought, he was sooo gonna die. He'd been so – she was almost afraid of what his reaction would be. She needed to warn him, prepare him.

"Stay here," she said to Buffy. They'd found another exit from the movie theater, and come straight home, avoiding the areas of town that seemed to be under attack. Buffy hadn't said a single word yet, not one, and Dawn was starting to get a little freaked about that, about her. _Could_ she talk? Was she –? She was fine, _fine. Dawn couldn't let herself think anything else. She couldn't. "I'll be right back."_

As she dashed down the stairs, she could hear Spike tearing through the downstairs rooms, calling for her. They almost collided at the foot of the stairs as he rounded the corner from the dining room.

"I'm here" she assured him. "I'm okay!" 

She wrapped her arms around him before he could even speak, hugging him tightly to give him the reassurance she knew he would be craving.

"Thank god," he almost moaned into her hair, hugging her back with more strength than he usually used.

She squeaked in protest, and he loosened his grip. He kissed the top of her and released her, and she cringed as his face changed from terrified relief to terrifying fury.

"I bloody well told you to stay put! Where the hell did you go?"

"Spike." Dawn tried to calm him.

"Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again."

"Spike."

"Do you hear me? Do you know what I thought when I couldn't find you? Have you got any bleedin' clue, you stupid bint?"

Oh-oh. He was calling her names. That was never a good sign.

"Spike, please."

He took a great shuddering breath and ran his hands through his hair. She watched him, waiting, as he tried to bring himself under control. She knew he must have been scared – okay, maybe more than scared – to come back to the place he'd told her to stay, and to not find her. 

"You wanna explain yourself?" he asked. "_Now?"_ His grating tone of voice told her he was still majorly pissed at her, but at least he didn't have that scary '_I'm gonna tear your head off!' look on his face anymore, and she sighed inwardly in relief. Sometimes she still wasn't positive he'd be able to control his temper. She trusted him, yeah, but still… Once he'd told her that controlling himself, and holding onto his temper, after 120 years of not caring about doing either of those things, was bloody _hard_. He had to work on it all the time._

"Spike – I have to tell you something. Something important. I want you to promise me you'll stay calm." Her blue eyes locked on his. "Will you promise me?"

His eyes narrowed on her, and he seemed to be absorbing her serious tone. He took another deep breath. "What is it, pet?"

"It's something good," she began, then smiled, and her eyes lit up. "It's something wonderful. It's –" she broke off when his eyes left hers. He'd caught a movement on the stairs out of the corner of his eye, and, still on edge from his earlier fear, he did that whole protective thing and shoved her behind him as his body pivoted in the direction of the movement, poised to attack.

He froze.

Even though he was no longer looking at her, Dawn tried a shaky smile, her eyes imploring him to stay calm, to see, to understand. She touched his arm lightly, a familiar touch of support and friendship. Just to let him know she was there. She moved to stand beside him again.

He didn't seem to move or react in any way at all for a period of time that was probably very short, but seemed to drag out endlessly. Then the completely stunned expression on his face changed, and his features went soft as he tipped his head back and gazed up at her sister.

His lips moved, just a little, the merest shift of position, but no sound emerged.

Dawn looked from her sister to her best friend. Buffy was still and silent, her face expressionless, and her eyes large and dark. She was as pale as Spike. Spike looked – well, he still looked stunned, and something more. Awed, maybe. His face was full of a kind of disbelieving wonder, and even under these very weird circumstances, Dawn knew that, someday, she wanted a guy, _the_ guy, to look at her like that. After a minute or so, she broke the silence.

"She's kind of – She's been through a lot, with the...death. But she's gonna be okay. I'm sure of it. She'll be okay." Dawn tried to reassure both of them. Maybe Buffy, too.

He said nothing. His head had tilted slightly to his left, and his eyes were... Oh god, she'd never be able to describe the look in them.

~*~

"Spike? Are _you_ okay?" 

Dawn was talking to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that her lips were moving, and he heard sounds. He couldn't interpret them, but…

Spike?"

He tried to pull his mind together, and absorb – this. "I'm... what did you do?"

"Me? Nothing!" Dawn sounded defensive.

His expression changed, and he nodded toward Buffy.

"Her hands."

"I was gonna fix 'em. I don't know how they got like that."

He knew. Oh god, he knew. 

"I do. Clawed her way out of her coffin, that's how." He met Buffy's eyes. "Isn't that right?"

Buffy's expression hardly changed, but she pushed her hands behind her back as if she was trying to hide them from him, from them. From herself.

"Yeah. That's what I had to do."

She'd spoken.

_O! Speak again, bright angel!_

"'ve done it myself."__

He couldn't take his eyes off her. He couldn't. 

His Slayer. 

_Alive._

Awe, yes. Wonder, yes. Unutterable joy.

This – _oh god, this is too – it's too... He couldn't even call it happiness. Either it wasn't there yet, or it had gone so far beyond that simple emotion that there weren't even words…_

_Alive.___

"We'll take care of you. C'mere ..."

She moved toward him, and he turned, his body silently directing her into the living room. His hand hovered just over her shoulder, but he didn't touch her. He didn't know if he could. His mind was operating on an entirely new and unfamiliar level, but he thought he might be _afraid to touch her. For just a moment he remembered the night in the training room of the magic shop when he'd thought the bot was Buffy. If he touched her now, would he discover again that she wasn't real? He knew she was. _Knew it._ He could smell her, hear her heart, the flow of her blood through her veins, but the fear still ripped through him. What if…? He didn't think he could live through that again. _

_He was pretty bleedin' sure he couldn't._ If he hadn't had that vision in his Slayer's bedroom that night, if she hadn't told him she needed him, that she was counting on him, made him give his word again to watch out for the bit, he didn't think he'd've been able to force himself through one more empty day.

He spoke to Dawn, but his eyes never left his Slayer.

"Get some stuff, bit. Basin of water, mercurochrome, some bandages."

"'Okay."

Buffy sat down on the sofa, and he sat on the ottoman, facing her. He was never going to stop looking at her.

Alive.

His Slayer was alive.

She offered him her hands and, offered them, he instinctively accepted them. 

He _could touch her._

For a second he closed his eyes, feeling a warm glow where his flesh touched hers. It seemed to momentarily soothe his fears. He gazed at the bloodied hands, the broken knuckles, the torn fingernails, before his eyes returned again to her face.

_He was touching her._

Touching her. Her hands. 

_Buffy's hands.___

His Slayer was alive.

Alive.

His eyes were on her face, riveted. Her face. She was here. _Alive. And he was__ touching her. Her hands were resting lightly in his. He could feel their warmth, the living flesh._

_Buffy.___

"How long was I gone?"

He opened his mouth, and words came out. 

"Hundred forty-seven days yesterday... um, a hundred forty-eight today. 'Cept today doesn't count, does it?"  He looked at their joined hands. A hundred and forty-eight days. One for every year he'd existed, living or undead. The last hundred and forty-eight days had seemed longer than the entire one hundred and forty-eight years. His eyes came back to her face. "How long was it for you...where you were?"

Her eyelids dropped. "Longer," she murmured, before lifting her eyes to meet his again.

Dawn returned with a small basin of water, a cloth, and some medical supplies.

"Got the stuff."

She knelt on the floor next to them. Together, carefully, they began to clean Buffy's hands. Dawn offered the occasional comment, her tone young and nervous, but trying very hard to be soothing, and other than those few words, none of them spoke.

~*~

There was noise and voices, and too many people talking at once. He wasn't taking it in. He wasn't comprehending it, them, this. None of it.

Since he'd returned to the alleyway where he'd hidden Dawn while he went to steal a motorbike in order to get them safely out of harm's way, only to find her gone, he wasn't sure if he was really comprehending anything. And certainly not Buffy, or this…****

They'd known.

They'd done this.

They'd brought her back.

_They'd brought her back._

They'd done some spell. Willow had done some spell, and they'd brought her back.

And they'd left her in the ground to claw her way out of her own coffin.

The dark. The terror. Had she felt it?

Oh god. Of course she had. _He_ could still feel it.

_One hundred and twenty one years had passed, and he could still feel it._

"What did you do?" he spoke, finally, his voice so quiet it was lost in the rabble of sound filling the room.

They'd come in the door, their faces drawn and stressed, and come face to face with Buffy. They were clearly shocked, and at first he'd thought they hadn't had anything to do with her resurrection either. But their excitement and their babbling words had soon disabused him of that notion.

_They'd done this._

They'd grabbed at her, hugging and squeezing her, voices going on and on, raised in excited pitch, ignoring or not noticing that his Slayer was practically cringing away from them. 

He'd wanted to tear her away from them, but it was Dawn who had rightly jumped in to defend her big sis, insisting the others back away. She'd then guided a still silent Buffy upstairs, where, she announced, she was going to put her sister to bed.

The gang hadn't stopped blithering on since, and he could make out more of the words now. 

_"Yes, she was quiet. Well, um, silent. She was probably tired. Or in shock. Oh, god, __Willow__, you did it! Remember how she'd described Angel's behavior? We're lucky she wasn't clawing at us in feral mindlessness. She seemed okay. She would soon be back to normal. Willow, you were amazing – and really, really scary...Jet lag from hell. I did it. I got her out. This is wonderful. We did it. Pulled her out of hell. Saved her. Thank god, thank god. She's back. She's tired, and okay, she hadn't said anything, and she seemed sorta shocky, but she's back. She'll be fine. A few days, a few weeks, maybe… Does anyone want pizza?"_

He thought he was going to explode.

"What did you do?" It wasn't a shout, but it was louder than his previous attempt, and the dark, dangerous tone caught everyone's attention.

They all turned to him.

"A spell." Willow's voice was still wildly excited. "I did a spell! Can you believe it? Spike, she's back. She's back! I did it!" She took a few steps toward him, smiling, and he could see she wanted him to share her excitement. "Isn't it wonderful, Spike? I got her back! Our Buffy!"

He looked at them all. Willow's grin, Anya's bright eyes, Xander's semi-happy, semi-sneering expression. Even Tara was smiling her quiet, shy smile.

"Why did you leave her?" he asked hoarsely. "Why did you leave her in the ground, alone?"

"In the ground?" Xander asked. "What do you mean?"

"She had to claw her way out of her own coffin, you stupid prats! You lot obviously planned this all out, and if you were doing the soddin' spell, then where the hell were you? How could you leave her like that?"

There was gasping, and shocked denials, and he wanted to scream at them for their carelessness, their stupidity. Had they even been near her grave? Didn't they know she was most likely to return through her mortal remains? Wasn't that common bloody knowledge?

"Her hands, they're... That's why they were bandaged," Xander muttered. "Oh, god." 

Their excitement dissolved into horror and guilt. 

Spike forced himself not to say more. He was far from sure of his ability to control himself right now, and if he started shouting at them, Buffy would be disturbed.

"We d-didn't know, Spike," Tara told him quietly. "We thought the spell had failed, and didn't realize we were wrong until we came in the door and found her here. We never w-w-would have... left her grave, never would have left – her." 

"Well, I would have," Anya admitted without remorse. "Those demon bikers showed up, and they'd have chopped us into tiny little pieces if we hadn't run like gazelles. We wouldn't have been much help to Buffy after that, if you ask me." 

"Ahn…"

"What? It's true!" Anya was often a little more logical than some of the others.

Xander looked like he might be physically ill at any moment. "I know it must have been bad. Okay," he amended off of Spike's look. "Worse than bad. But it couldn't've been worse than what she was going through in some hell dimension." His eyes met Spike's. "Right? I mean, this is really bad, but we got her back. She's here with us, alive again, and we have to focus on that. We can't change how she came out, but we can be grateful she did, right?" He looked around at the others, seemingly seeking their agreement, before looking back at Spike. "Don't try to tell me this isn't the best night of your entire existence, Spike."

Spike looked at them all again. They'd brought her back. He should be grateful. He just hoped...

"Magic," he said quietly. "The thing is – with magic there're always consequences. Always."

When he went out the door, no one tried to stop him, and no one called after him.

~*~

Spike sat silently on the roof, smoke curling around his head from the burning cigarette he held loosely in his left hand. He'd spent more than 120 years in the dark, and he still loved the sounds of the night. But tonight he didn't listen to the calls of the various birds that hunted after dark, didn't hear the chirping of crickets, which he normally found so soothing. The cool, welcoming night air he'd loved even when he was alive made no impact on him tonight. Unlike some vampires, he rarely missed the sun. There was always much more to see in the night sky. Things he was blind to tonight.

Daylight was the not the kind of light he craved. The light he craved lay just inside the windows of the two rooms he sat between.

He heard Dawn shift in her bed, heard her breathing change slightly, and his body tensed as he listened for any sounds of distress. None came, and her breathing evened out again. Buffy's breathing was different, and he knew she lay awake in her bed, unable to sleep. Perhaps there would be no nightmares tonight, no need to go to either of them and offer comfort, as he had so often with Dawn these past months.

But he remained in place, just outside their windows. Guarding them, keeping watch, being there. Just in case either one of them needed him.

~*~

Silent tears made tracks down sharply angled cheekbones.

_Alive.___

_His Slayer was alive._

~*~

He was sitting on the floor in front of the leather sofa he and Dawn had nicked from the mansion, one knee drawn up, when she came in.

He'd been there a good part of the day, torn between wanting to get dead drunk and wanting to stay completely sober so that he could keep his mind focused clearly on the fact that his Slayer was alive.

He'd hardly moved. He was afraid hysteria was bubbling just under the surface, and he hoped that by staying very still, he could avert it.

He'd had so many dreams, so many visions, so many nightmares since her death that he wasn't yet sure if he could really believe last night's events. They had seemed real, had felt real; but so had a lot of the waking visions he'd had, so had so many of the dreams.

He didn't even know for sure if he could separate fantasy from reality anymore. 

She didn't say anything. She came in and sat down on the floor only a short distance from him, facing him. She drew up both knees, wrapped her arms around them, and met his eyes without speaking. Her eyes were wide and dark. They didn't look hazel anymore, and he missed the flashes of green and golden brown. They looked huge, though; far too big for her face, and empty, the way they'd looked last night as she stood on the stairs.

Looking at her now didn't really seem to be doing much to convince him she was real.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and couldn't. No sound came out.

Did she blame him? Of course she did. She must. And why wouldn't she? It was his fault, after all. He pushed a hand into his hair, and lowered his head, unable to meet that silent gaze. He'd been repeating that motion – pushing his hands into his hair – fairly often during the day, and the blond strands were wildly disarrayed now, standing up in short spikes and tight curls.

He wanted to cry or scream. He wanted to fall on her, and feel her body against his, under his, moving. Just moving. _Alive._ He wanted to wrap his arms around her and bury his face against her throat, her breast. To sob out his relief that she was here. _Alive. To tell her of his joy, his pain. To beg her forgiveness._

He so desperately wanted, _needed,_ to touch her.

And he couldn't even say her name.

So he just sat there, only a few feet from her, staring at the floor between his legs, his hand resting on the back of his head. He was so afraid of what he'd see in those eyes if he looked into them again. He'd never felt fear like this before, not in life or death. Fear mixed with sorrow, and guilt, and pain. He should have known only she would ever be able to affect him this way. Almost since the night he'd first stalked her at the Bronze, she'd had the ability to send his emotions ricocheting in half a dozen different directions at once.

Neither one of them spoke.

Long, silent minutes passed. The only sound came from the electronic hum of the refrigerator. The silence stretched out and out and out.

Finally, he took a deep breath and raised his head, meeting her eyes. They were still focused on him, and he had the impression they'd never left him since she'd entered the crypt.

Waiting, he thought. She was waiting. 

When he spoke at last, his voice was quiet, the tone somber and heartfelt.

"I do remember what I said. The promise. To protect her. If I'd done that ... even if I didn't make it, you wouldn't've had to jump." He paused, swallowing. "I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course. But after that. _Every night after that. I'd see it all again, do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways ... "His voice was still steady, and he wondered somewhat that it hadn't broken yet. It faded into a whisper, _"Every night I save you..."__

She said nothing. His body had tightened up a little, in anticipation. Of what? Blows, maybe – physical, verbal, emotional. He felt sure they would be coming. But she remained silent, and still. After a time, he realized she wasn't going to launch any sort of attack, and some of the tension left his body.

They continued to sit there in silence, and as it lengthened, it somehow grew more comfortable.

Why had she come here, he wondered? He'd thought she was going to accuse him of failing her, as he knew he'd done, or perhaps... He wasn't sure. But he'd been sitting there all day, as if... Almost as if he was waiting for her, as if he'd known she would appear.

His eyes were on her again, touching on her hair, her face, her body. He was listening to her, too. Listening to the beat of her heart, the soft in and out of her steady breathing. Sounds he'd heard in a thousand dreams and visions. Sounds he'd longed for. Sounds he'd been so sure he would never hear again.

"We could sit _on _the furniture if you'd like," he said at last. "The bit and I redecorated. The downstairs, too. It's quite posh."

Her eyes didn't move about the room in exploration as he'd thought they might do. Nor had she been distracted by his words, as he'd hoped. He waited, then spoke very softly.

"Buffy? Slayer? If you're in – if you're in pain. Or if you need anything... If I can help you... I don't know where you were, or what happened to you while you were – gone. But if you're in pain now... If you need me..."

"I was happy." 

The simple words fell into the room, softly spoken, but they felt heavy and hard.

"Wherever I – was – I was happy. At peace. I knew that those I'd left behind were all right. At least…" she frowned, looking slightly puzzled. Then the frown smoothed out. "Yes, I knew it. Time was different – it didn't pass in the same way, and nothing had form... But I was still me, you know? And I was warm and I was loved... and I was finished. Complete.

"I don't understand about dimensions or theology or any of... but I think I was in heaven."

Spike's eyes stayed on her, his face betraying his concern. 

"And now I'm not."

"Buffy –" 

"I was torn out of there. I was there, where I belonged, and then I… wasn't. They pulled me out. Them – my – friends. They think they pulled me out of hell, but…_" She looked at him, her eyes full of questions and pain, and confusion. _

"And I – I think something got pulled out of me… I don't know what, but I feel like something is missing, and," her voice dropped to a pained whisper. "And I think it might be something I_ need. Everything is all… I can't seem to – I can't seem to…"  _

Her eyes slid away from his, and she fell silent. Perhaps she felt she'd said enough, maybe too much, but he had so many questions… Spike stared at her. He'd never felt torn this way. She sounded so lost that he could barely feel anything but pain for her. Yet, at the same time, he was glad she hadn't been in some hell dimension, undergoing who knew what forms of physical, mental and emotional torture.

A variety of emotions continued to rocket through him, and underlying them all was a desperate rapture that she was back, that she was here, _alive. _And that now, at this moment, she was physically close to him. 

He waited to see if she'd say more. When she didn't, he moved at last, pushing himself across the floor to sit close to her. He reached over and took one of her hands in his. Head bowed, he brought it to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm. He said nothing, just sat there beside her, offering her what little comfort he could with his closeness. Several minutes later, she laid her head on his shoulder, and a little sigh went through her body. 

"I can't – they can't know. I can't tell them. Not yet." Her head moved, and she glanced into his eyes. "And you won't, will you? Please?"

Of course she'd think of protecting her friends, even if they bloody well didn't deserve it. She was still the soddin' Slayer, wasn't she?

He hesitated, but at the appeal in her eyes, he nodded reluctantly, saying nothing. He wasn't gonna argue the point with her right now.

Her head fell back onto his shoulder. Her hand stayed in his.

Spike pushed his concerns down, forcing them out of his head. _For now._ Instead, he allowed himself to enjoy – sensation. His eyes closed. His Slayer's hand was in his. Warm, living flesh. The softness of her hair brushed his cheek. He listened to her, to the sounds of her living body, filled his nostrils with her scent. 

Warmth flowed through him.

_Buffy.___

~*~

His bones had healed. It had only taken a matter of days, and he was pleased by that. His powers were still strong. 

Better yet, it seemed the blindness was not going to be permanent. He was able to make his way to an abandoned building where his eyes and his body could continue to heal.

And where he could continue to plan.

He still needed the key. Glory had been destroyed, but there were two others, each just as powerful, and just as hungry for destruction. The others had had disagreements with the volatile Glory over execution, disrupting the flow of destiny, but the multi-dimensional reign of horror and terror they'd all envisioned nearly two thousand years ago could still be made reality. All he needed was some time to prepare, to research. He needed to know just when the next alignment would occur, and the next ceremony could be performed. 

And the key. 

He would need that little girl. It was nothing personal. Just necessary.

But her guardian – the Slayer. That was different. That was personal. The bitch had jumped. Right into the portal, pulling him in with her. He didn't know what had happened to her. But he did know, that in the hundreds of years he had spent trapped in the blinding light of the portal, twisting in agonizing pain, he hadn't once sensed her presence. And he'd had far too much time to think about that, and to contemplate what he would do to her if he ever met up with her again.

When he'd heard the magic, felt the powerful forces summoned by the words being spoken, he'd known his time in the portal was almost over. And he'd felt the power of the forces summoned flood him, altering his already fearsome strengths, and giving him knowledge he hadn't previously possessed. Knowledge it would be quite valuable to have. His mind had gone on full alert. And just before his broken body had been dropped unceremoniously onto the ground near the tower, he'd sensed the Slayer's presence, had smelled the unforgettable scent of her strong, warrior's soul.

She had been somewhere nearby. 

He had learned patience over the nearly 3000 years of his existence. He could wait.

He'd let the Slayer continue to protect the key,_ his key now, until he was ready to use it. Then he would take his key, and the Slayer would pay for what she had put him through._

~*~

  
**Author's Notes**

Warning: Mild spoilers for upcoming chapters. 

Okay, Buffy's back. And yeah, a little familiar, but with a few twists here and there… I want to reassure readers, though, that this story is NOT going to be a rehashing of Season 6. I brought Buffy back in much the same manner, because the aired version of her resurrection worked well for the story I wanted to tell, and was easier to use than making up an entirely new scenario. (Sometimes, that's called laziness, but really, there's no need to get personal.) I found the scene on the stairs in 'After Life', and the 'Every night I save you' speech to be such perfect B/S moments that I just had to have them exist in my little Buffyverse, too, so I quite blatantly stole them, altered them just a tad, and plopped them right into my story. (I did tell readers I was planning to steal some lines from early Season 6 way back in the summary before Chapter One of 'Promise to a Lady'. I'm sure you all remember that, right? LOL.) I will warn you now that I um, **borrow** some moments from 'Tabula Rasa' as well, and the Willow endangering Dawn idea from 'Wrecked', and, okay, maybe some chip related issues, but, honestly, I twist them around quite a bit.

When it comes right down to it, I stole all the characters and the entire first five seasons, so I suppose nicking some bits from Season 6 isn't all that cheeky of me.

For the most part, other than these instances, 'Journeys' goes off in its own direction. Buffy's experiencing a somewhat different fallout from being in heaven, and though the Willow/Power Trip idea is still used, I** _think_ **I've succeeded in handling it differently, with a change in the reactions of the others, and in the consequences. The remaining plot is mostly, _I hope and believe,_ my own. Once we get into the third part of the story, 'Revelations', there will be very little that seems familiar to anything we've seen aired at all. Unless, of course, Joss has been hacking my computer, and amazed by my brilliance, has adapted my story for the show. (**snort** – but, um, just for the record, almost every single detail beyond Awakenings has been plotted since before I posted Chapter One of 'Promise to a Lady' on September 29. Insert eye rolling, etc., here.) 

I was completely floored by the wonderful feedback I received after posting the final chapter of part one of 'Journeys'. As I mentioned in my notes at the close of that chapter, this second part of the story, 'Awakenings' has been giving me a lot of grief, and I think all the encouragement readers sent helped me to sit down and take a long, and very hard look at it. For that push, I thank everyone who took the time to drop me a note or post a piece of feedback at sites that have a feature allowing that.

After much hair pulling and the use of some language I generally try to avoid, I decided that I couldn't really solve the problems I was having. So, horror of horrors, I made a major plot change which is involving huge amounts of re-writing. 

I realized that what happened on air in Season 6 was very much coloring my thinking, and once I let a lot of that go, _realizing that I **could**_, because, after all, **_A_**_lternate **U**niverse_, most of my problems were solved. I really had to go back in my head to how I _felt_ about the 'ship and the characters, to what I thought _might _happen _before_ Season 6 began to air, and even what I thought and felt after the first few episodes, and ignore where Joss and ME took the story after that (except, of course, **ahem** for the things I wanted to nick from them). I hope readers will be able to do the same, that you'll buy into this altered vision, and will continue to enjoy the story.

The shift in the plot makes the story not quite as "realistic" to me, but as I work on it, it seems to get more and more _possible_, and it certainly seemed to ease the writing process, so perhaps it was meant to be. And it _is _one I haven't seen used in another fic. (Not that I've read _every_ piece of B/S fic ever written, though you would never guess that from the amount of it I have printed off and placed lovingly into three rings binders! It's a good thing that you can find binders that go with almost any décor, because they're sitting all over my house…) Most importantly of all, I think I've been able to (almost) seamlessly integrate the change into the future parts of the story, which have long been very thoroughly plotted, and are largely written. (Whew! Mary wipes brow in relief at this blessing.) 

And just for the record? I freakin' love my readers – thank you so much for actually sitting down and delving into this fantasy of mine.

Mary

January 15, 2003 


	2. Awakenings Chapter Two

Journeys by Mary 

~*~

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love. 

– Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

See notes, etc. preceding Chapter One. 

****

****

****

**Chapter Two**

_"Can I ask you something?" Spike asked quietly, staring intently at the chessboard. He couldn't seem to force himself to meet the Watcher's eyes._

_Giles looked up from contemplating his next move. He must have heard something in his voice, because when he spoke, his tone was encouraging._

_"What is it?"_

_He ran his hands restlessly over his face, before he dug their heels into his eye sockets, pressing in.  This was so hard – fighting his fears. But he could do it. He was strong. Hadn't Buffy told him so? _

_"Spike? What it is?"_

_Finally, he raised his face to the Watcher, not even attempting to hide his emotions. "I'm sorry to bother you with this, but I – I didn't have anyone else I could ask," he began. He was genuinely sorry to be asking the Watcher this question. He didn't really understand why, but he felt the question was intrusive, inappropriate in some fashion. He shouldn't be bothering Giles with it, disturbing him._

_"Spike?" Giles had risen, and he was frowning now, his concern evident as he took a step closer to Spike._

_He swallowed, almost unable to voice his question. Haltingly he forced out the words._

_"Is she… Buffy, I mean… Is she – **real**, d'you think?"_

_Giles laid his hand on the back of Spike's neck, massaging. His voice was low, kind, as soothing as his touch._

_"Yes, son. I think she's real."_

~*~

Spike came awake with a little jolt. He couldn't remember ever dozing off here on the roof before. His mind replayed the brief dream, and he shifted restlessly. 

That had been damned odd. A bit unsettling, too.

At the same time, the Watcher's words had been reassuring, even coming in a dream. 

They hadn't been able to reach Giles, who was still visiting relatives, and doing research on some sodding words spoken in a vision, in England. Spike hoped the old codger's heart was up to the shock when he returned.

She'd only been back a few days, really, and maybe with time, this feeling would dissipate. This feeling of – unreality. He still wondered, _often,_ if this – Buffy's resurrection – was just another vision of some sort. He supposed it wasn't so unusual that he'd subconsciously seek reassurance that it wasn't. He'd found Giles' words, and his tone of certainty, calming. 

Except that bit where he'd called him 'son'. That had bloody well been uncalled for. 

~*~

Her heartbeat sped up first, and his body tightened. By the time her breathing had changed to soft gasps, he was already in her room, a silent shadow moving to her bed.

Dreams happen in mere seconds, and nightmares, though they may seem to be drawn out in endless, mindless, terror, were no different. Before he could reach her side, she had already begun to thrash, her entire body writhing on the bed, and she'd thrown up her arms, her hands curled into claws.

"Help me!" she called out, her voice quaking. 

Her breathing and heartbeat were becoming increasingly erratic.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Spike pulled her up, capturing her hands between their bodies, and wrapped her tightly into his arms. Through trial and a few memorable errors, he'd learned that this was the best position to take. The first nightmare she'd had, he'd captured her hands in his and pushed them down onto the bed near her head, trying to force her into immobility. Not one of his finest moments. Holding her down had obviously added to her feeling of being closed in, trapped. Still asleep, she'd begun struggling wildly against him, ultimately succeeding in tossing his carcass across the room. He'd returned, changing tactics.

In those first shocking hours after her return, he'd felt a desperate need to clutch her to him and sob out his fears and anguish against her living flesh. That need still writhed through him, at times almost sickening in its intensity. But he buried it, suppressed it. He didn't think she could take that from him now, didn't think she could – handle it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Right now, she needed _this _– his strength, his comfort. He could do this, he'd told himself more than once; push away his own fears and needs, and see to hers. _For her._ Be strong. Be what she needed.

"Buffy." His voice was firm, but low, trying to soothe her without waking the household. "Love, wake up."

He began to move his hands in long, slow strokes over her back, but it was his voice near her ear that seemed to do the most to calm her.

"Shhh, love. It's just a nightmare. You're here in your own room. You're safe. No coffin. No –" his voice hitched, "– no dirt falling into your face. No rocks falling on you. You're okay. You're here, love. You're safe. Safe."

She'd begun gasping in earnest, frantically trying to draw in needed air. The short rapid bursts of inhalation tore into him. God, she seemed so helpless right now, suffocating in her own terror. He'd have savored it at one time, but now he hated seeing her like this.

He knew what she was feeling, remembered it. And he could almost feel it with her now, the mindless terror.

_Dirt falling, falling, rocks in his face, trapped, couldn't get out, couldn't break free, and the hunger, the hunger driving him wild… _

Of course, Buffy wouldn't have felt the hunger. But then, he hadn't been so frantic for the air. Or perhaps he had. He'd certainly been frantic. He wasn't sure now if he remembered all the reasons why. Rational thought hadn't played a large role – just instinct, and terror.__

He shook her a little, even as he continued to try to remove her fears with his voice and hands.

"Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe," she cried out, her voice rising on each word. But then she grew still, and he knew she'd started to wake up. Her hands were suddenly clutching at him, her curled fingers digging into the hard muscles of his arms. Her forehead fell onto his shoulder. "Oh god, oh god," she muttered.

The bedroom door opened soundlessly, and Tara and Willow stood silhouetted against the light from the hallway. Seeing them over Buffy's shoulder, Spike glared. For a moment he was so furious with her friends, he could hardly think of anything but the ferocious need to tear into their flesh, to destroy them. The hunger to kill filled him, and he almost growled out his frustration at being unable to appease it. 

"Shhh, love. Shhh. You're safe. You're here in your room. You can breathe. Just take it slow." Sometimes he thought it was a bleedin' miracle he could keep the black rage running through him out of his voice. Buffy must be completely out of it, or it was a sure thing she'd be pulling away from the waves of tension gripping his body.

He clenched one hand into a tight fist against the small of her back, and slowly, forcibly, pushed the anger away. Control. They'd brought her back, he reminded himself. She's suffering, yes, but still, she's here now because of them.

His fist unclenched, and he drew in a calming breath, inhaling her.

Buffy was taking little sobbing breaths now, not crying, really, but plainly still quite caught up in her nightmare. She didn't say anything more. She just burrowed her face further into his shoulder, and her body continued to shake as she struggled to breathe normally.

The door closed again. Spike was glad the witches hadn't dragged Dawn in here with them. Hopefully little sis was sound asleep. 

His hands stroked softly down the curve of Buffy's back, over and over, and his voice murmured soothing, meaningless sounds against her ear until she fell back asleep. Touching her soothed him as well, and he felt the remaining darkness leaving him. Long after he'd laid her back against her pillows, he stayed beside her, staring into her face. Even in sleep she looked troubled, and little shudders occasionally ran through her body.

Some time later, after her tremors had stopped, and she appeared to be sleeping peacefully, Spike climbed back out the window, and took up his usual spot on the roof again.

He tried to take comfort in the night, but he remained restless. 

In another hour, he could smell the approaching dawn. Vampires became experts at timing the coming sunrise by smell and sight. If they didn't, they died.

Spike listened to the steady heartbeats and calm breathing from two beds inside the Summers' house. His girls were sleeping soundly, deeply. By this hour, most demons had wreaked whatever mayhem they would for the night and had disappeared back into their lairs, so it was safe for him to head back to his crypt. Still, he lingered another half an hour before he leapt lightly to the ground, and moved off toward the cemetery. 

He'd almost left it too long. The sky was lightening dramatically, and Spike broke into an easy run, reaching his crypt as the first rays of deadly sunlight broke over the horizon and shone upon his door.

~*~

Willow knew she needed to talk to Buffy, but, even after giving it a lot of thought, she still wasn't sure of the best way to broach the subject she wanted to discuss.

It hadn't really bothered Willow much that Spike had been sitting out on the on the roof almost every night since he'd – well, since he'd come out of that coma like thingy. She knew he'd gone in to Dawn lots of times, soothing her from nightmares; of the tower, of Glory, and of her mother's death. Even though she thought it wasn't a good idea to have Spike around so much, Willow had to agree with Tara that it was kind of sweet seeing him so protective of Dawn. 

But for some reason, it had really disturbed her to see Spike soothing Buffy in the same manner. She wondered if last night had been the first time, or if he'd gone in to her on other occasions since she'd come back. It was somehow even more disturbing to her that Buffy seemed so willing to accept the comfort Spike was offering her. Almost, almost – snuggling – into him like that. It wasn't _right._

When Spike had chained her up with Drusilla in order to declare his love, _and boy, there's your definition of weird love, _Buffy had been coldly rejecting of him. And though she seemed to have softened to him in the weeks after that, Willow was sure there hadn't been any real change in Buffy's feelings for the vampire. At least, she didn't think so. She had seemed to come to rely on him a little more, and to trust him with Dawn and her mother, but still...

No, Willow was sure Buffy's basic opinion of Spike had not changed. After all, she _was_ her best friend. Buffy told her everything, didn't she?

So why, now that she was back, did it seem she was even _more_ accepting of him? Willow would have thought that with the direct threat to Dawn that Glory had presented out of the way, Buffy would have pushed Spike back out of the circle. 

Willow was almost certain she knew the reason Buffy hadn't done so, and it worried her.

Buffy had been trapped in some horrible hell dimension. Blackness, and evil, and dark forces. Was she spending more time with Spike now because he represented those things? Because Spike himself was evil and darkness? Had Buffy been somehow corrupted in hell? Like a – like a hostage developing a relationship with their captor? She'd read about the Stockholm Syndrome, had studied the still debated case history of Patricia Hearst. They'd discussed these issues in psyche class earlier this year.

It's not like she thought Spike was _totally_ evil or anything. She knew he had his good points. One or two, anyway. But – Hey! Vampire! And – no soul. The chip could never take the place of a soul. They all knew that Spike belonged in the darkness, right? Cause, um, still _mostly_ evil. And, well – Spike! 

Sometimes, Willow thought that the fact that Spike's fangs had been pretty darned close to her neck on more than one occasion had kinda put a damper on the whole issue of her trusting him.

And if Buffy was drawn to that darkness because of the time she'd spent in hell, wasn't it their responsibility as her friends to try to draw her back away from it? To at least discourage it?

If only they could get Spike to back off. But Willow had almost no hope of being able to appeal to his better nature, if, er, he even had one, exactly. And, as she'd been made aware again and again over the summer, the blond could be very difficult to control. God, he'd frustrated her so much sometimes! Always going off on his own, ignoring the plans she'd carefully come up with. Argh! No, she couldn't talk to Spike. She just didn't think it would be wise, or effective. She would have to talk to Buffy. 

Willow had been up half the night thinking about it. Ideas darted through her active mind, and little whispered conversations took place. Ideas were presented, discarded. What might work, what might not. She tried to figure out the best words to use, the most persuasive, the words that would settle into Buffy's mind, making her think things through carefully. Think about Spike. 

After Dawn and Tara left in the morning, she lingered. Once the door had closed behind a chattering Dawn, Willow took a deep breath. No time like the present.

Buffy was perched on a stool at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee sitting in front of her. It looked untouched. She's so empty looking, Willow thought. Hell must be truly, um, hellish, to have left her so drained of any emotion or spark. And the nightmares she was having… Was Buffy reliving her experiences in hell over and over? How horrible. She wished she could help her forget…

"Hey," she said quietly, taking the stool next to her.

Buffy looked almost surprised to see her. Hadn't she seen her until she'd spoken? Willow had to admit the thought that she could sneak up on Buffy – on the Slayer – seemed like something they should all worry about.

"Hey," Buffy replied. She stood up and moved to the end of the island, leaning her elbows onto the countertop, as she folded her hands around her cup of coffee.

"How are you this morning?" Willow kept her voice gentle.

"Better. Fine." Buffy paused, then added politely, "Thank you for asking."

"I'm so sorry you're having nightmares. It must have been so horrible – where you were. If there's anything I can do..."

"No. There's not."

"If you'd like, I could look into some spells that might help you sleep."

"No," Buffy refused. "Not yet. Maybe – we'll see. But not yet."

"You should be happy, Buffy," Willow said earnestly. "We got you out of there. You're back, and living, really living, again."

"Yes, I'm back." Buffy nodded.

"Pretty soon, everything will be just like it was before. You'll be slaying again full strength – Buffy: Back and Better Than Ever," she teased. "Xander and I will be researching, and I'll be coordinating everything – the plans of attack, like I did this summer. Giles will be back – being, you know – Gilesy. Tara can start helping more, and Dawn can take over, like, um, food pick up duty or something…

"And, you don't have to rush into anything, but hey! before ya know it, I bet you'll be back with the quippiness, and the – other stuff. If you're not ready, though, no biggie. We can handle things for you. We did, you know, while you were gone, and we can keep it up 'til you're feeling more like your old self. So – no hurry. No pressure.

"Angel made it back, and you can, too. And, gotta say, Buffy, you're doing a lot better than Angel was when he first came back from hell, so I'm thinkin' – good sign." Willow widened her eyes and smiled softly, encouraging Buffy to smile with her.  She was so anxious for Buffy to really come back to them.

Willow drooped a little at Buffy's failure to join her in a smile. Maybe Buffy just wasn't ready for anything lighthearted yet.

"Speaking of Angel – have you called him yet? Let him know you're back?"

Buffy just stared.

"Do you want me to call him for you? Explain things?"

"I'll, um, let you know," Buffy said. She took a couple of steps back, coming to a halt with a little jolt when her hips hit the counter near the sink. She leaned back against the cabinets, holding her coffee carefully in both hands.

Willow hesitated. Okay, maybe she wasn't ready to talk about Angel yet either. Which seemed kinda weird, but, then, what wasn't the last few days? 

Willow went on to her original reason for approaching her this morning. "I'm kinda concerned about something, though," she began carefully. "About Spike."

Buffy gave a small frown. "What about him?"

"It's just – do you really think it's a good idea to let him into your room like that?" she said in a rush.

Buffy turned away from her, dumping the untasted coffee into the sink. Carefully, she rinsed the cup out and put it in the dishwasher.

"He is – um, you know, Spike..."

"I thought – my sister told me that he'd been around a lot lately. That he helped," Buffy murmured. Willow wondered how her voice could remain so monotone. Then she realized it probably wasn't all that hard if you said practically nothing. Willow was willing to bet that, if she made the teeniest, tiniest effort, she could recall every single word Buffy had said since she'd saved her.

_And the words she hadn't said._

"Oh! Well, yeah, he does. In, um, some ways, you know. And he is really good with Dawnie." Willow had to give credit where it was due. "But still, it's Spike." Saying 'it's Spike' had always seemed more than sufficient in the past. She said it to herself a lot now, reassuring herself that it was in all their best interests to send the blond vampire packing. "And, um, I don't know – it just seems like it would be better if he backed off a little. Let you settle down. I think it would be best if you told him that."

"I'm not worried about him," Buffy replied. She was still gazing into the sink, and Willow wondered what she was thinking. "Can we just – let it go for now?"

Wow! Two whole sentences, Willow thought, but then she relented, feeling bad about thinking such a – well, a sorta sarcastic-y – thought. Buffy sounded so tired, so completely worn out. Not to mention, she'd been in hell. Hell, Willow. No matter how awful you think that must have been, it was probably ten times worse. Or more. It was only natural that Buffy was having trouble, that she wasn't really behaving the way she – should.

Eyeing Buffy's slumped posture, Willow decided she'd probably said enough for today, for now. She'd planted a few ideas. Buffy'd been all with the nightmares, and the gasping during the night and maybe this wasn't the best time for in depth discussions on the state of her psyche. 

"Sure," she agreed. "I'm just worried about you. And I don't want Spike taking advantage of you or anything. You were in hell, and he's all sorta dark and stuff... I know it might feel comfortable to be with him right now."

There, now she'd planted a few more things. Things for Buffy to think about.

"I have a class in half an hour. I'd better get going."

Buffy turned back to her.

"I'll tell you what; when you're ready to talk to Spike, I'll go with you. You know – be supportive girl. Let him know we're serious."

Ignoring the small frown that appeared between Buffy's brows, Willow rose, and reached into the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of juice to take to class with her. 

"Bye, Buffy. Take it easy today. Why don't you take a nap this morning? If you do, I bet things will look better this afternoon."

"I – maybe," Buffy said. "Bye."

~*~

Buffy watched the redhead leave the room. She wasn't quite sure what was causing her concerns, or even exactly what they were. Perhaps the fuzziness that seemed to be permeating her entire being made it too difficult to figure out any but the most basic things. She shifted a little uncomfortably. She was almost afraid to acknowledge how much even the basic things were confusing her. 

It was odd. 

She kept forgetting where things were, or how to do simple everyday tasks. Yesterday, she'd stared at the control panel of the washing machine for five minutes before she could remember how to turn it on. A few days earlier, the microwave had taken twice that long. She couldn't remember where they stored garbage bags, or the pasta strainer, or the new bottle of shampoo.

Not that she'd ever been exactly domestic girl, at least, she didn't _think_ she had – _had she?_ – but she'd usually known where stuff was in this house. Her house. 

Where she lived with her sister, Dawn. And some other people. Willow. And Tara. Maybe others. She wasn't positive. There always seemed to be so many people coming and going.

She'd begun to accept that a lot of things were unfamiliar, strange, and so very fuzzy.

Worse, it was wrong.

_It was all wrong._

Several times recently, she had been walking down the hall, or up the stairs, or across the lawn, and she'd stopped, sometimes in mid-step, because she suddenly had no idea where she was, and she had to stand still long enough to figure it out. _I don't belong here,_ she would think, at those times, and she couldn't understand why she wasn't where she had been. Where she was _supposed_ to be.

Then she would remember. The people living with her, living near her, had torn her out, torn her away. They'd brought her _here._

She seemed to be almost frozen in a state of deep disorientation. She didn't have any idea how long she would stay encased in this fuzzy state, or even, if she was honest, how long she'd _been_ there. Had she been here a month? Two? Six? Longer? She started to feel a little panicky at the realization that she had absolutely no idea, so she pushed the thought away and just refused to think about it.

She was beginning to think that_ not_ thinking about things might sometimes be the way to go. 

Buffy ran a little water into the kitchen sink and washed the pan Tara had used to make some pancakes for Dawn's breakfast. The two of them had laughed and chatted happily while they'd prepared their morning meal. Buffy had watched them, smiling faintly from time to time, and had tried to stay out of their way. It was nice. They sort of went on as if she wasn't there. They didn't spend their time staring at her, questioning her with worried eyes, like Willow and Xander seemed to, trying to see inside her, trying to make her…make her _what?_

Buffy didn't know. Didn't understand. But she thought maybe they wanted something from her.

_"How are you? Are you better? Feeling better today? How are things this morning? This afternoon? This evening? How's the Buffster? Feeling a little more like your old self? Feeling more like the old Buffy? How about today? Maybe this afternoon. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow. How about now? This minute? Better than a minute ago? A second ago? Better? Better? Better?"_

_I'm not supposed to be here!,_ she wanted to cry out to them.

And then softly, fearfully, to herself, _Am I?_

It's wrong. What happened? Why am I here? I thought… 

Did _I do something – _wrong?_ Did I have to come here to make up for something I did?_

And then the last, quiet, internal whisper, sad beyond sound, _What was it?_

It had taken her days, maybe weeks, she thought, to figure out that Willow and Tara were living here in this house in order to take care of her sister. And then_ that _had confused her. For some reason, she'd thought Spike was taking care of Dawn. Wasn't that…? Isn't that what he _did?_

_Promise me._

_"'Til the end of the world…"_

Buffy pushed a soapy hand into her hair, pressing it against her temple as the confusion over that issue returned. To make it worse, she didn't understand why she felt confusion, so that confused her more. She groaned lightly in frustration. Apparently, the whole issue was just another one of those fuzzy things.

And, god, there were so _many_ fuzzy things. So many. And just to make it worse, those fuzzy things seemed to go in and out of that state, being clear one minute, then completely out of reach, encased in fuzziness and confusion again, the next.

_"'Til the end of the world…"_

Spike.

Her mind went back to what Willow had been saying, about asking Spike to back off, to stay away.

On that point, Buffy wasn't confused or fuzzy at all. Not one bit. She had no intention of asking Spike to stop keeping his vigil on the roof. She was terrified, absolutely terrified, to fall asleep. The waking memories of the coffin were bad enough. But when she was asleep… The nightmares were worse, much worse. It was as if she was actually back in the ground, back in the coffin, fighting, clawing, reliving it all endlessly…

She'd been resting, so warm, perfect peace enveloping her, comfort and love surrounding her, cushioning her, and then…

Terrible, screaming pain, wrenching at her, tearing her apart, and terror, horror, fear. _Fear._ She would never, she couldn't, she couldn't…

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel the terror building in her, rising, taking her over. And the_ loss_, oh god, oh god, oh god, the loss… 

Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe…

She tried to push them down, the coffin memories; terror, pain, loss. But instead of lessening, the feelings increased. She was descending into full-scale panic. In an effort to halt the downward slide, she spun back toward the sink and turned the water on full blast. Cold. As cold as she could get it. She began splashing water onto her face. Handful after handful.

No dirt, no rocks falling on her, no dirt filling her mouth, her eyes. Breathe. Just breathe. There's air. 

But she couldn't seem to draw it in.

She started gasping, trying to capture needed air. Frantically, she threw more water into her face. More. Faster. One of her struggling breaths caused her to inhale some water, and she began to choke, coughing harshly. The gasping stopped, and strangely, she began to calm a little, coughing until her air passages were clear.

Slowly, carefully, Buffy turned away from the sink. Water was dripping unheeded from her face onto the floor, and the hair framing her face was soaked. She was breathing hard, but it was a more normal out-of-breath panting now, as though she'd been running or – _or fighting. Air was flowing in and out of her lungs._

She could almost hear Spike's voice, soothing her.__

_"Shhh, love. It's just a nightmare. You're here in your own room. You're safe. You can breathe. Just take it slow. You're safe. Safe."_

Every night, often more than once each night, his voice was there, in her ear, in her mind. His soft, deep tone was fatal to her fears, her panic. His voice battled them, and won.

He might not understand everything she was feeling. How could he? She didn't herself. _Couldn't._ But he understood the coffin, the suffocating entrapment of being buried alive. 

That was part of the reason she knew she wouldn't ask him to stay away, no matter what the redhead, or anyone else for that matter, thought. Knowing he was there, sitting just outside her bedroom window in the night, ready to come in to her if she needed him, to offer comfort, even a degree of peace, was the only thing that allowed her to close her eyes at all. The only thing that allowed her to even attempt sleep.

~*~

Although he'd almost never used it, the bed he and Dawn had painstakingly chosen to liberate from Angelus' mansion was damned comfortable. He rarely slept, and when he did it wasn't deeply or for long, and his bier was good enough for that.  It had bothered him that he'd dozed off on the roof last night, fallin' down on the job like some bleedin' wanker, and he'd sought the bed this morning thinking it would offer a better chance at getting some actual bloody rest. That remained to be seen, but he was currently enjoying the state of peaceful almost-slumber, and the cool smoothness of the soft cotton sheets against his bare skin. Even dozing, he could feel the slide of the fabric across his chest and thighs.

The air changed. Something was added. Something – something…

_Buffy._

Another vision, then? he wondered, not fully aware. Her name escaped his lips, a breath of sound.

"Buffy."

He could taste her essence in the air around him. Was she real? The Watcher had said she was real. Of course he'd said it in a dream, but still…

"Buffy?"

His eyes opened, and she was there, sitting at the foot of the bed, her pale arms wrapped tightly around the knees she had drawn up close to her chest. She was wearing a little tank top, and a pair of loose cotton knit pants – her usual sleepwear. Little bits of newly mown grass clung to the sides of her bare feet, and her hair was disheveled, hanging in damp strands around her white face.

He frowned. Was it raining? He couldn't hear anything… 

No, her clothes were dry.

She was rocking a little, he realized. Her large eyes were locked on his, and for the first time since she'd been brought back, those eyes held strong emotion, easily read.

Fear.

He'd felt it in her body in the night, the shaking terror from the nightmares, but her eyes had been hidden from him in the dark of her bedroom, closed. And when she was awake, those eyes, so expressive in the past, had seemed, for the most part, empty. Seeing the crippling fear there now filled him with a renewed and powerful rage, deep and primal. She was the Slayer, for fuck's sake. Strong. Fierce. Magnificent. Her sodding friends had done this to her. They'd interfered, played with fate, and reduced her to this frightened, shaking shell. 

He forced himself to keep his fury, with them, and with a fate that would do this, or allow this to be done, to one of its chosen warriors, from showing in any way. 

"I can't breathe," she told him, and the fear was in her voice, too. Even though he could see, hear, _feel,_ that, aside from the fact that her breaths were a little too shallow, she was breathing almost normally, he didn't argue the point.

Wordlessly, he reached out a hand to her, and she flowed into his arms, the rumpled sheet and her light clothing separating her from his bare flesh. Somewhere in the almost fragile body he held in his arms, that powerful warrior still dwelled. He had to believe that. Had to.

Because doubting it would kill him.

"You're doing fine," he assured her. 

He felt warmth suffuse his body as she settled against him, and he tucked her closer, pressing her face into his throat. For a moment the warmth almost seemed to heat up the air around them, and as the shock of the unnatural sensation ran through him, he could swear the room actually glowed for a second, a soft flash of blue light. Buffy gasped and pressed closer, and he thought maybe she'd felt it, too. It was a good thing, he thought, that he was getting used to damned unusual goings-on, because they bloody well seemed to be occurring with increasing regularity. The heated air and the glow quickly waned, but the warmth remained. It was still strong inside him, radiating from his chest into every part of him.

His usual reaction to anything he felt was unnatural was edginess. But strangely, this warmth had the opposite effect. It calmed him, eased the rage.

"Listen to me, to my voice. I'll breathe with you. Slow and deep, love. In." Spike drew his breath in. She followed suit. "Out." She exhaled against his skin, a warm mist. _Real._ "In. Out. Calm down, love," he cautioned when she took three or four breaths in a row that were too fast, too shallow. "Shhh. Calm. In. Out. In. Out. You forgot out, there, Slayer," he chided gently into her hair. "Shhh. Be calm, love. You're doing fine. In. Out."

He kept up a steady repetition, breathing with her, until he felt most of the tension leave her body. Then he began to substitute soothing sounds as his hands stroked her back.

"Keep talking," she murmured a few moments later, her breathing almost normal. The tremors running through her body had slowed. "Don't stop."

He'd never stop if it meant he could continue to hold her like this. He concentrated on the feeling of the weight of her body against his, on listening closely to the soft sound of her breathing, the rhythmic sounds of her beating heart and the blood pumping through her veins. These feelings, these sounds were doing a lot to assure him that she was real; that she was really here, alive.

And he needed all the reassurance of that truth that he could get.

He'd imagined it so many times, _so many,_ and he didn't think he could…

"You're safe," he said, close to her ear. "Safe. I have you, Buffy. Shhh." His hands continued to caress her, further easing her trembling, as his voice rumbled on. "You're safe, love. You're here. I have you."

She moved against him, a silent ghost. Through the soft bedding, her legs entwined with his.

_Not _a ghost, he told himself. She's not a ghost, a vision, nothing like that. She's real. _Real. _

"Don't stop talking," she asked of him again. "I can breathe when you talk." Her words vibrated against his throat. One of her hands had twined into his hair, and the other curved over his hip. 

"I won't, love. I won't stop," he promised. "You're here. I have you." The whispered words flowed out, unplanned, and he thought she was listening to the timber of his voice more than to the meaning of the sounds, which were offered to soothe and calm her. 

Just as she seemed desperate for reassurance that she could breathe, that she wasn't buried in the ground, alive, and alone, he was equally desperate right now in his need to _know that she was real. Although he didn't speak of it openly, on some level she seemed to recognize it; to understand that he needed reassurance, too. _

"Don't…stop." Her voice was fading, and she seemed to be almost on the verge of sleep. "Don't…"

His hands touched her, grazing lightly over an arm, her waist, the firm line of her outer thigh. _She's here_. They touched her throat, her hair, lingered on her face in disbelieving wonder. She's _real._ Living. Breathing. They smoothed over her shoulders, and flowed easily down the gentle line of her back, over the curve of her hips, coming to rest on her bottom, cupping the globes of flesh. 

Their hips began rocking together very gently, just hinting at a soft, ancient rhythm, and although they were both participating in the motion, neither one of them was even vaguely aware of it. It was just another part of the comforting, mutual now, unconscious, unacknowledged.

"You're safe, love. I promise, I'll keep you safe." His lips touched her temple, and his face lingered in her drying hair. "Promise, love. I have you. Shhh."

_She's here. She's alive. She's real. _His mind repeated the words over and over. 

Believe.

"You're here, love. Safe. You're here, you're with me. I have you. I have you, Buffy."

~*~

He'd spent days shifting through the new knowledge he had of the slayer and her friends. He weighed different scenarios, different possibilities.

What might work, what might not, what would give him the best advantage. Finally, he made some decisions.

He would contact an old friend here in town, enlist his help. He smiled, that gentle, endearing smile that had long served him so well. The friend he had in mind was always up for something interesting. He would enjoy this assignment. All the – details – involved. 

Then, when his health was more completely restored, he would take himself off to L.A. And he would explore all the intriguing possibilities residing there.

It was good to be alive.

And least for now.

~*~


	3. Awakenings Chapter Three

Journeys by Mary 

~*~

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love. 

– Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

See notes, etc. preceding Chapter One. 

Quick A/N: Thank you so much to the many readers who've taken the time to send so many lovely pieces of feedback. You can't know how much I appreciate knowing that people are reading and enjoying the story. And to whoever has been busy hopping around the net nominating the story for awards at several sites – I love you! **g**

A nice _long_ chapter this time…

Chapter Three

"Gonna tell me what's on your mind, pet?" he asked at last.

They'd been in Standard Stargazing Position #1, _side by side, flat on their backs, _for about twenty minutes now, and he could practically hear her mind shouting with the need to talk to him about Something Big. He'd been rambling about the Seven Sisters and the bear and Devil's Tower, but she clearly wasn't paying any attention to the myth.

"It's Buffy." Dawn said at last.

He'd been expecting it, but his head still swiveled quickly toward her, catching her eyes. "She okay?" 

"Yeah. Fine. I guess. I mean, no. I don't know! Do you?" Dawn voice rose on a faint wail. "She's all weird! Quiet and kinda nervy. She, like, hides in her room half the time, and I know she's sneaking out her bedroom window almost as soon as it's dark, just like she used to do before mom knew she was the Slayer. I don't know where she goes, if she's patrolling or what."

Spike could have told her that big sis was coming to him, to his crypt. He wondered why the Slayer hadn't told her herself. Maybe Dawn just hadn't asked. Her appearances at his crypt had become a regular occurrence. It had been a week and a half since he'd opened his eyes to find her rocking at the foot of his bed, and since then, she came to him most evenings. Soon after the sun had set, she would appear, knocking politely on the door of his crypt.

_'Let's walk,'_ she would suggest. Or she would sort through the films he had on hand, and ask if he would mind watching this one or that one with her. The fairly large assortment of video tapes he'd managed to nick over the years had fallen victim to his crypt-destroying rampage last summer, but the number was slowly growing again. When she seemed to show a strong preference for moody old mysteries, that genre began to increase in number. She'd loved _'Laura'_ and, even though she'd seen and dealt with more scary things in her lifetimes than could be counted, _'The Haunting'_ had made her gasp in shock more than once. She always seemed pleased that he was willing to spend a quiet evening with her – like he was doin' her a bleedin' favor or something.

"Your sis is having some trouble, pet. Bein' alive again." His voice didn't dismiss her fears as unfounded, but he tried to avoid letting his own concerns come through too clearly, which might upset his girl further.

"Yeah? I'd-a never guessed." Sarcasm wasn't ever much of a problem for Dawn. Didn't mean the bit wasn't genuinely worried. "Sometimes she seems okay and sometimes she's like a complete stranger. Sometimes she looks at Willow and Tara like _they're _complete strangers, like she can't quite remember their names."

"Does she?" Buffy did seem a little confused once in a while, particularly, he thought, about the passage of time, but she always seemed to know who he was.

"Yeah." Dawn paused, and turned her face back to the sky, her eyes sliding away from his. When she spoke again, her tone had become confiding, like she was sharing secrets. "She forgets where stuff is in the house – even _rooms,_ and half the time at dinner I don't think she has any idea what we're talking about.  I don't think she remembers a _lot_ of thing s – _lots and lots of things_ – or, um, even some…_people. I mean _really_ doesn't remember them – not just their names." _

The fearful, almost horrified undertone in Dawn's voice had Spike studying her more closely. She didn't glance his way, but she was biting at her lower lip a little. Forgetting people was obviously pretty high on her scary things list, and he gave that some thought. Was she worried that because people had been manipulated into _having _memories of her, they could be re-manipulated into _forgetting_ her? That could well shake a lot of people's foundations, and, in her short lifetime, the girl next to him had already had her world shaken up more than most ever would. 

He looked back up into the sky himself, keeping his voice casual. "The Slayer's obviously not havin' any trouble remembering _you_," he assured her. "How many times have I seen the two of you all tucked up together on the sofa, bein' all sisterly, since she got back?" he commented. He hadn't spent a lot of time in the house with them – most of his time with Buffy was when she came to him, or during the night when terror struck – but he'd still had several chances to see the sisters interacting. "I got the impression the two of you were gettin' on pretty well, doin' quite a bit of chatting too. Right?"

"Yeah," Dawn affirmed, then paused as she seemed to consider it. "Yeah, I guess you're right. She talks to me a lot more than she used to. Nothing deep, maybe, but she seems to kinda wanna spend time with me. Before I always felt like the annoying little brat sister, you know? Like for her it was this major huge deal that she spend five minutes with me. _'Oooh, look what a good sister I am, I walked Dawn to the corner. Pat me on the back, and tell me I'm wonderful!'_"

"You're still the annoying little brat sister, pet. That hasn't changed."

"You are sooo _not _amusing, bleach boy," Dawn announced. "But, yeah, she talks to me more, and for sure a lot more than she talks to anyone else. She practically scurries away from Willow, Xander, and Anya like she's Amy or something."

"Amy?"

"Willow's rat. You know – that used to be a girl?"

"Oh, yeah. Met her that night she got out of her cage," he nodded in recognition. It had taken them three soddin' hours to find the stupid thing! He'd forgotten her name, but he hadn't forgotten the general Scoobie reaction of horror when he'd suggested wringing the furry vermin's neck. Would'a kept them from ever having to search her out again, wouldn't it?

Spike would probably never be up for membership in P.E.T.A. 

Or in any Wicca groups either, for that matter.

"Tara seems smart enough to hang back a little and give her some space. Thank god," Dawn added with feeling. "I wish the others would grab a clue. I mean, it's pretty obvious she can't stand being crowded, and talked at. Sometimes I almost wanna bash Xander over the head and tell him to lay off."

"You should go with that, luv. Probably be good therapy for you, and if it doesn't relax you, watching would bloody well make my day. You should do it for that reason alone," he urged, warming to the idea. "You know, to prove your undying devotion to me. Just tell me when you're ready, and I'll trot along with my popcorn, get a front row seat. Have myself a real good time."

Without turning her head, Dawn whacked him on the arm. "You _would," _she laughed. The amusement quickly faded, though, as Dawn voiced more of her Buffy-centric concerns. "But even talking to her is so different. She's all thoughtful about stuff, and um, I don't know, kinda soft or something. And she's so – _polite."_ Dawn made it sound like a serious character flaw. "_Please, thank you, may I?_ It's freaking me out!" 

Knocking on his door… Asking rather than making demands accompanied by a fist connecting to his nose… Yeah, to use Dawn's words, it was freaking him out a bit, too. Her decision making processes had changed as well. _Would you mind? If you'd rather… What do you think? _She'd always been in charge, issuing orders. It was so far removed from her usual style that this consensus version of Buffy was taking some serious getting used to. These changes – her desire for quiet, the politeness, the soft gentleness Dawn had mentioned, the – what? Womanliness? He wasn't sure if that was the word he wanted. Old fashioned womanliness maybe. Some lofty ideal of womanhood from a few centuries ago. Something some brainless twit had written volumes about that hadn't had that much basis in reality even then. Something William had believed in, maybe. Stupid git. All these changes, these new or newly revealed aspects to Buffy, felt different, and he was still adjusting to them. He'd spent some time wondering how permanent they were, too.

Not, he thought, back stepping a second, that his Slayer hadn't been a damned fine woman, and he would guess she'd shown a softer side of herself to Angelus, and the soldier. But, for the most part, his own experiences with her would never have led him to associate the words _soft_ and _gentle _with her before the tower. 

'Aggravating bitch' was a lot closer to the mark in his memories. His mind drifted.

"Do you know she had me take her on a tour of Sunnydale a week or so ago?" Dawn drew him out of his fond musings. "We walked past the Magic Box and Xander's, looked around campus. She had me take her to the Bronze, the grocery store, and the drug store, past the old high school, stuff like that.

"We walked past your crypt about four times, coming into the cemetery from every direction. She kept turning around and looking at things from the other side – you know, like you're supposed to do in the mountains so you don't get lost. Our dad used to make us do that when we went hiking on our camping trips."

_Was she implying all that camping gear stored in their basement had actually been **used** by them? By all of them?_ Spike's inability to picture the Summers' women embracing Mother Nature up close and personal renewed itself.  

"I asked her if she wanted to walk by Giles' too – so we did that. But I got this totally bizarro feeling that she didn't know who Giles was. She was like, _'Giles? Um, yeah, sure.'_"__

Spike thought his Slayer was doin' a lot better than she had been that first week back, when all he'd seen from her was the empty eyes of pain and loss and shock, and all he'd felt was the fear in the night. She wasn't her usual self, but she wasn't that frightened shaking shell either. At least, not all the time. Dawn was seeing a few things he hadn't been exposed to yet, but still – overall… 

Even though he spent several hours with her each evening, they hadn't been doing a lot of in-depth talking. They would walk, if that's what she wanted, exchanging some inconsequential pleasantries as they strolled. She seemed to like the quiet, the peace of the night, and he'd been careful to direct their walks into the safest areas of town. Somehow, trying to make sure that Buffy found that peace seemed a lot more important to him than finding, or starting, a nice brawl, or even placing himself where one was likely to break out.

_'If you'd rather go to the Bronze…'_

_'No, I'm not much for crowds these days.'_

_'Me neither.'_

_"Well, that works out nicely then, doesn't it?'_

Love's bitch.

If they watched a film they spoke little during it, and mostly _about_ it afterward. Since she seemed to be enjoying quiet, he thought it best to avoid bringing up their past. Not many quiet times in their history to chit-chat about anyway. 

Sometimes she just curled up on his stolen sofa and slept. He knew she didn't always sleep well at night. The nightmares continued to come frequently, but they weren't the only thing that kept her from sleep. Sometimes she just lay awake, quietly in her room. Her breathing told him she wasn't sleeping, though she didn't share why, even if she climbed out on the roof and sat next to him, which she'd done several times.

The quiet times, the silences – walking, at his crypt, on the roof – weren't uncomfortable. The were just that – quiet. Peaceful.

Which was another thing he was adjusting to. Feeling comfortable and peaceful in each other's company hadn't gotten a lot of playing time in their pasts.  

"You don't think something totally freaky happened to her brain when they brought her back to life, do you? I mean, maybe there was brain damage from the lack of oxygen in the coffin or something."

"Your sister does not have brain damage," he asserted, his voice a little more forceful than he'd planned. "She just needs some time." Just some time, right? 'Til what? She's her old self again?

"Are you sure?" Dawn asked, and her voice had dropped. Fear crept in. "Willow says Buffy was trapped in some horrible hell dimension, where she was probably being tortured. Maybe she went insane or something. Like, um, soft insane, not screaming maniac insane. I thought –" she hesitated. "I kinda thought she was in heaven. You know – she was a good person. Die. Go to heaven. We both thought so, didn't we? You and me – we talked about it. About Buffy and Mom being together. 

"But now I don't know. Willow sounds so sure, and Buffy's acting so weird… And, um, I'm – I'm kinda having a lot of nightmares about it. Willow says Buffy's having nightmares about hell all the time, too. So it must be true."

The Slayer wasn't havin' nightmares about hell, like Red insisted, but the witch had managed to ingrain the fears into little sis' mind, and now Dawn was dreaming of hell in the Slayer's place – half a dozen times or so in the, what – two or three weeks? – since Buffy had been back, he realized. The ones she wouldn't explain when he went in to her. He hadn't pressed her. Some things were too private to share, and she told him what she felt the need to.

Might be a plan if Willow would learn to keep her gob shut.

"Your sis' nightmares are about the coffin, pet. That much I know for a fact."

"Really?"

He eyed her. "Who goes in to her, luv?"

"You." 

"That's right. Me. Not Willow." Nightmare soothing was becomin' a bleedin' full time job, he thought. Pay was good, too, he smirked to himself, thinking of the warmth of his Slayer's body, the tension of fear leaving it as she went all soft against him.

"Do you think she was in hell?"

"Have you talked to your sis about this?" he hedged.

"No." Dawn sounded unbearably disheartened. "Sometimes, it's like my real sister is still dead."

"No." His tone lurched a little, and he adjusted it. "Don't say that. She's back with us." His voice was quiet and firm now. "She needs some time. If she was in hell, well, then, she's hurting. And if she wasn't, she just might be hurting more. Who knows?" It was as far as Spike felt he could go. Buffy had told him the others mustn't know where she was, and even though he didn't agree that the truth should be kept from them, he wouldn't betray her confidence. He rolled onto his side, facing Dawn. "Look at me, bit."

Dawn copied his motion, and propped her head on her hand. Spike opened his mouth to speak, but instead paused suddenly. His eyes narrowed and his head came up as he sniffed the air. Someone was…

"What is it?" Dawn asked, looking puzzled. Her head swung around to look over her shoulder, and Spike's eyes went to her hair as it moved through the air. It was the same scent. He'd probably imagined… 

"Nothing," he dismissed. "You've had a pretty bad time of it this last year. No one could say different. But you've been strong, held up pretty good for a brat kid of fourteen."

"Hey, I'm fifteen," Dawn protested. "Remember – August, birthday, melty ice cream cake?

"Okay, fifteen," Spike conceded. "Still, most of what you've had to deal with happened when you were fourteen, right?" His girl was growing up a bit too fast. Bloke should be able to put a stop to that, in his opinion.

Dawn waited.

"Gotta admit, you're right. Your sis isn't actin' quite like her old self. First off, she's not half as annoying as she used to be, and there's a hell of a lot less of that whole 'heinous bitch' persona hoverin' about her."

Dawn gave a gurgle of laughter, and Spike felt the now familiar little glow of pleasure in his chest as he watched her trying to suppress her mirth. It was different from the feelings inside that he associated with Buffy. Similar in some ways, but containing something exclusively _Dawn. _

"Now, me? I happen to be right fond of her fiery side, gets me –" he broke off, reminding himself of inappropriate subject matter. "But you, bein' her little sis, an' all, I'm thinkin' you might look at those things as an overall gain, right?"

She looked to be about seven years old right now. He thought the teen had done a lot of growing up over the past several months, but she was still just a tot. She could seem like a perfectly rational adult one minute, and the next either a giggling child, or a whiny, temper tantrum throwing hormone bomb had taken up residence in her getting taller by the minute body. She'd had to handle a lot, though, and he figured she was due to have some slack cut when she got in one of her whiny, bitchy moods.

"You know I'm damn proud of you," he went on when her mirth calmed. "You took everything life threw at you, and you did all right, even kept me goin' pretty good this past summer. I know it's not fair – you bein' asked to do more. But I'm askin' anyway. Be strong a little longer for your sis. Whatever she's goin' through, she needs you. You can be a big help to her right now. Might not feel that way, but just being there – being yourself… You know you matter more to her than anyone on earth.

"I think –" he hesitated, thinking about his phrasing. "I think your sis is just a little confused. No matter where she was, she was yanked out pretty sudden like. Bound to throw her for a bit of a loop, don't you think?"

Dawn absorbed his words, thoughtful again as she played with a piece of grass. "Maybe," she agreed. "How weird is my life, Spike? I mean – my sister's dead, and I'm supposed to pretend a robot is my sister. The bot – well, you know how she can act – waaay beyond perky. It's just weird. First, no Buffy for two months. My friends are askin' me where she is. Then super chirper girl is saying lame mom-type stuff whenever they come over. When she's not blabbin' about your abs or something, that is. You know, half my friends think you're Buffy's boyfriend, because of the bot."

Yeah?" he sounded pleased, and Dawn rolled her eyes. 

"Oh, yeah. Isabelle and Kimi yak about your abs too," she groused. "What's up with that, anyway? Shouldn't you look at a guy's eyes?"

Spike sucked in his cheeks. "If you're smart, luv."

Dawn got back on track. "Now, my real sister is back, and she's acting kinda like the bot with a short circuit or something. Like she's not really there – asleep or something. Like maybe part of her is missing?

"And my friends are wondering what happened to perky, smiley Buffy. God, why can't I just have a normal life? Why does everything have to be so bizarro? Geesh – look at me! My best friend is a vampire!"

"Hey!" Spike was indignant. "Havin' a vamp for a best friend is one of the best parts of your life, missy, and don't you forget it!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Dawn's voice let him know she'd heard it all before.

"Normal, pet, is all relative. I've known a lot of different types – human and demon – and you are way up there on the normal scale."

He realized his mistake when she rolled her eyes at him. "Really? Oh, god, thank you, thank you! I'm so glad, so relieved! I'm way up there on the normal scale when compared to demons!"

He knocked her elbow out from under her, so that her head flopped to the ground. 

"Ouch!" she protested.

"Didn't hurt," he derided her. "Chip." He gestured to his head, indicating the general state of him not writhing in pain. "You're way up there on the brat scale, too, you silly bint! You bloody well know what I meant. And so what if your life's a little different from the average girl your age? Doesn't make it bad. In fact, it's probably a damn sight more interestin' than all your little friends' lives. Bet half of 'em envy you."

"Huh?"

"Look at Summers. Gets to live with her sister and her sister's Wicca lesbian lover friends. Oooh!" Spike did his best imitation of teen talk. It sucked, but he didn't care. "They probably think you have the best set up imaginable."

"Ha, bloody, ha!"

Spike glared. "'m not kidding, pet. Take my word for it – more than one of 'em wishes she was in your place."

"The crazy ones, maybe. My life sucks."

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice melancholy. He looked away as he continued in a plaintive tone. " Wish mine did." He looked back at her and wagged his eyebrows.

"You are such a geek," Dawn gave in, laughing.

"Badest person you know."

"Geek."

"Am not."

"Are too. Complete geekdom."

"Liar. ''m bad. Through. And. Through."

"Oh, yeah, baaad."

"I _am._ What's more, you love me."

"As. If.," she snorted, then relented. "Well, okay, yeah. But you're still a geek."

They had risen together during the last few exchanges. It was time to go home. They'd spent so many nights together at Joyce's grave that they seemed to know instinctively when that time came. 

"Night, mom! I love you," Dawn said to the headstone. She kissed her fingertips and touched them to the marker. She was smiling again, looking relaxed and at ease.

"Night, Joyce," Spike added, copying her gesture.  This had become a ritual. "Your might tell our girl here to have a little more respect for her elders."

"Oh, pleeease," Dawn groaned. "You are so far past 'elder' it isn't even funny. You're like 1000 or something in dog years. You're ancient."

"Yeah? Well preserved, though."

"You are so totally full of yourself. Whoever made that no-reflection-in-mirrors rule for vampires? I bow down to them in gratitude every day," Dawn suited action to words, bowing in exaggerated '_we're not worthy' _fashion. "'Cause it is _such_ a good thing you can't use one. If you could you'd probably stand in front of it all day, drooling over yourself.

"That good looking, am I, pet? I mean, I know I'm a handsome bloke – birds are always tellin' me..."

"Could your ego _get_ any bigger?"

They didn't even break stride. The playful bickering continued as they headed toward Revello Drive.

~*~

"Hold up a bit, pet. We have company."

With a squeak of fear, Dawn darted behind Spike. 'Company' was one of his terms for demons. He'd made it pretty clear to her over the months that her job was to stay behind him if they ran into trouble. She peaked around his duster, only to see her sister coming toward them. She straightened, trying to look nonchalant, as she strolled back to Spike's side.

"Hey, Buffy," she greeted her sister, waving a hand in front of her with a grimace as smoke from the cigarette Spike had just lit wafted into her face.

"Hi." Her greeting included them both.

"Out for a stroll, Slayer?" Spike asked, and Dawn watched her sister shift restlessly from one foot to the other. 

She smirked. "You ducked out to avoid Willow and Xander, didn't you?"

Buffy eyed her. "Anya was coming over, too," she contributed, and Dawn laughed. "We were gonna have a 'game night'."

"Told you," Dawn pointed out to Spike. "They totally crowd her. Did you use the door or climb out your window?" She didn't have to let her sister think she was getting away with stuff, did she?

"The window _is_ a little easier," Buffy confessed, looking slightly amused. "It only asks about half as many questions."

"You could'a joined us in the cemetery," Spike told her as they began walking again.

"Were you there?" Dawn frowned.

"Just passing by," Buffy assured her. "You two looked like you were having a serious talk. I didn't think I should interrupt."

Dawn glanced behind Buffy's back to Spike, who was walking on her other side. She mouthed "POLITE" slowly and carefully, just in case he was missing this example.

When they arrived at 1630 Revello, Buffy glanced at the house, her expression slightly fearful. They could see movement behind the curtains. 

"Um… Maybe we could go for a walk?" She wasn't begging, but Dawn thought it was near enough.

"Eeeww," Dawn made her feelings on that suggestion pretty clear. "Much as the idea of a nice 'walk' thru the lovely streets of Sunnydale after dark appeals to me, I'm gonna pass. First, do these look like walking shoes to you?" She indicated the nearly two-inch soles and the much taller heels on the boots she was wearing.

"No, but they do look kinda familiar," Buffy said, examining them.

"Oh, pleeease. Like your tiny little boots would fit me," Dawn said. Unfortunately that was true. Couldn't borrow her sister's pants anymore either – _too short, **not** too small in the waist. _Even Buffy's blouses sometimes didn't fit because the sleeves were too short. If only it was because they were too tight across the boobs. That would be so totally cool! Dawn glanced down. Never gonna happen, she thought with woe. She was like one step removed from a training bra. Or maybe a half a step. Grrr. Ooh!, she thought, cheering herself. Buffy's many tank tops, though? And those sexy halter tops with the strappy backs? Fair game. And accessories? Open season extravaganza! Yes!

"Plus, I have to be at the Magic Box by 8:00 in the morning, an hour that clearly has no business existing on Saturdays." She gave a could-be-patented Dawn Summers' Look of Disgust. "But you two go ahead. I'll cover for you with the gang. Oh, and Spike?" She turned to him, walking backwards up the sidewalk toward the porch. "Next Friday night? Movie, in a theater, with popcorn. The big size, too. I mean it. You so owe me."

Friday night was their night out together. It had been a steady date since school started up again in the fall, and she wasn't gonna let him get away with one more Friday night in the cemetery. Not that she was getting tired of the star gazing or anything. She still thought that was totally cool. But, geesh! It was November, and it was getting pretty cold laying on the ground looking at the stars.

"Bossy bint," he muttered affectionately. His eyes slid to Buffy. "Takes after her sis sometimes."

Of course, there was no way Buffy and Spike could sneak away that easily, Dawn thought. Xander had, for some reason, come to the door to look out, and had spotted them lingering on the sidewalk.

"Come on in!" he invited. "We decided on a video night instead of games – 'The Best of Saturday Night Live' – one of the old ones. Chevy Chase, John Belushi. Candy grams and killer bees. Guaranteed to make you laugh 'til you wanna hurl. You too, Spike," he added, his tone indicating the afterthought.

Dawn almost managed to shepherd Xander back into the house. "They're gonna patrol," she informed him, wondering if he hoped to see Spike laugh or hurl. Her hand caught at his arm. Just a few more inches.

"Oh." Clearly that had priority. He struggled against Dawn's grip. "I didn't know you were patrolling again, Buff."

She shrugged, but didn't respond.

"Well, take care, anyway. Spike – watch out for her. She might be a little out of practice. Want Ahn and I to come along?"

"They'll be fine," Dawn insisted. If he kept yakking she might have to tell Spike to grab his popcorn and get his front row seat, cause his 'real good time' was about to happen.

"Tomorrow night – '_Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon'._" Xander called out to them. "Some great moves in that one. Could be considered an educational film for you, Buffster."

Dawn tugged him into the house, and pushed the door closed firmly. Success!

~*~

Buffy looked at Spike. 

"Wanna patrol?" she asked, her tone conspiratorial. Her voice almost suggested quotes around patrol, and Spike tilted his head to the side as he tried to read her. 

"You got a stake, love?"

"Do I need one?"

"Always best to be prepared," he told her. A stake appeared from somewhere within the leather folds of his duster, and he handed it to her.

Buffy twirled it like a quick-draw artist dazzling the patrons of a saloon with her favorite six-shooter. 

Spike eyed the move with approval, and relaxed a little. "See you haven't lost your touch, pet."

They set off toward a cemetery across town from his own. He tended to run a tight ship in his own back yard, because well, he didn't need just any demon types trying to set up shop there, did he? A patrol there was bound to be uneventful, and he thought maybe it was time to bring the Slayer into contact with a vamp or two.

Had she been patrolling since she'd come back? He doubted it. Not with him, she hadn't, nor apparently with the Scoobies, and he was willing to bet she hadn't gone alone, either. He had a pretty clear idea of how most of her evening and night hours were spent, because, since her return, he'd been nearby during most of them. If this was her first time out, he was bloody glad he was along. Indications were his Slayer might not be quite in fighting trim yet, and it was best he was along to watch her back.

They didn't rush. In fact, their pace could well be described as leisurely. 

"I've just started doing some training with the bit," Spike told her. "At the Magic Box – you know, when she gets done with work on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Nothing too intense," he assured her. "Some practice staking, but mostly self defense. If you're looking for a reason to get out of the house, Slayer, you're welcome to join us." 

"I might take you up on that," Buffy said. She hesitated, but then continued. "I don't want you to think that I think they're awful or anything. The others. It's just…" 

Buffy frowned slightly, and Spike watched her expressive face. Not frightened or empty, he thought with satisfaction. He hadn't seen either of those expressions for nearly a week now. Not that she wasn't still terrified during the night – caught up in nightmares, but she seemed to be doing better during her waking hours. He took that frown as a good sign, a step toward recovery.

"They're just kind of…"

"Overwhelming?" he suggested. 

"Yeah, in a way. I mean I'm home alone most of the day, so you'd think I get enough quiet time, but I can feel the tension starting to mount as the afternoon passes. Just anticipating all the people coming and going… It seems like there's always so_ many_ of them. Willow and Tara pop in and out, maybe stay, maybe go to a study group or something. Then Dawn's friends stop by with her, and the noise level becomes _extreme _for about an hour until _they_ leave." Her hands came up to emphasize _'extreme'._

"And Xander…Sometimes I feel like he's bouncing around me like a puppy, holding its leash in its mouth and wagging itself all over, looking at me with those big puppy eyes, and I know he'd gonna keep begging 'til I actually break down and take him for a walk. And all the while I'm watching him, I'm thinking – _'Why didn't I get the kitten instead?'_"

Spike gave a little snort of amusement. He could picture it perfectly.

"Which I kinda did," she added as an aside. "Willow and Tara have one. Miss Kitty, er…"

"Fantastico," he offered. "We've met." He liked the cat a hell of a lot more than the sodding rat. He'd been a bit disappointed when it hadn't been the cat that had _found _the rat the night of the big search. 

"Anyway, Xander's usually the ringleader, trying to drag me into his movie nights or game nights or whatever. I'm sure he has a good heart, really. He's just –"

"Too much?"

"Yeah. Tara's easier though. Soft. Like a warm blanket. I love watching her and Dawn together."

"She's been a good mum to your little sis, Slayer."

"I can sense that. And they –"

"They what?"

"Tara and Dawn. They don't stare at me all the time, and ask me how I am every two minutes, and have all these questions they want answered, that I just don't…"

"Harris' M.O., I presume?"

"Um, Xander's. And Willow's. Willow is..." Buffy's shoulders moved in an odd little shrug.

"Will's what?"

Her shoulders moved again, before a slight pout touched her mouth. "Um, kinda bossy. I think you should take this class, Buffy. Or I think you should see this doctor, Buffy. Or, I think you should tell…" Buffy trailed off. "Which is okay, I mean. You know. To care about me, and suggest stuff. But…I don't know. If I don't sign up for the class, or see the doctor, or whatever, she seems all surprised – like it had all been decided, agreed on, and I'm just not following through."

Making decisions. Directing the troops. Red had been getting pretty involved in being the boss over the summer. Sounded to him like she was trying to bring the Slayer into formation. He smirked to himself. Sounded like the Slayer was being a bit rebellious, too.

Another good sign.

Maybe she'd stage a coup d'etat. Even better.

"And she makes me kind of twitchy," Buffy added.

Spike's eyes narrowed. Now, _there_ was an interesting word. Red made him a bit edgy, too, once in a while. He hadn't seen enough of her since Buffy's return to suss it all out, but she didn't smell right to him. Something seemed off, different. And her power – it had altered a little. Grown, maybe, or – shifted. 

"Is that so? Twitchy how?"

'I don't know. Sometimes it's like I can feel her eyes on me when I'm not looking and it's –" Buffy's shoulders did that uncomfortable movement again. It was as if she was trying to shake something off. "Creepy, I guess. Weird, and creepy."

More interesting words. Might be time to have a little chat with the witch, see if he could pin down some of these descriptions a bit better, as well as some of the vibes he'd been getting himself.

"Has she always been like that?" Buffy asked casually, and Spike's head swung toward her, his eyes narrowing for an entirely different reason.

"Slayer?"  

"Told you it was the Slayer," a voice interrupted. 

Bloody hell. Spike groaned, eyeing the group of half a dozen vamps. What the hell was he thinking, walking right into this?

"And her boyfriend," the group spokesman went on. "What'd'ya think it'd be like to date the Slayer, boys? Think you'd ever get to be on top?"

"Who the hell cares?" one of the others asked. "Look at her. She can climb on top of me as often as she wants."

And we have a winner, Spike decided. _'Who the hell cares?'_ gets to die first. 

"Dude, I think that's Spike," another one of the group injected, his voice squeaking. 

How old had the git been when he'd been turned? Spike wondered in disgust. Thirteen? Fourteen? And how old was he? A few months? He should still be holed up with his sire, being initiated into the rites of unlife, taught, and, if his sire had half a brain, nurtured. It didn't look like this bunch had half a brain between them, though, and he was guessing _'Think you'd ever get to be on top?'_ had sired the lot of them. It was a bleedin' shame what depths a city could sink to when there was no one in charge.

_"Spike?"_ The leader's attention shifted to the taller of the two strolling blondes. "Spike? You – you son of a bitch. You killed my sire. Prepare to die."

"We're vampires, you stupid prat. Do you have any idea what that means?"

"Huh?" The leader was completely taken aback by the question.

Spike rolled his eyes. "No pride," he lamented. "Breaks my heart to see this kind of riffraff on the streets, sullying our reputation. To begin with, lackbrain, _we're evil._ We don't sodding quote from 'The Princess Bride'."

Buffy's face revealed her surprise. "You've seen 'The Princess Bride'?" she asked Spike.

He glanced at her, shrugging. "Well, yeah," he admitted. "The bit likes it. Ropes me in to a lotta things."

"I thought we were about to fight," '_Think you'd ever get to be on top?' _interrupted.

Spike looked the group over. "Well, I'm about to fight. You're about to die."

It was so easy sometimes.

_'Who the hell cares?'_ did go first, as Spike had promised himself. Been a few weeks since he'd been in a decent fight, but he fell into an easy rhythm, his body singing with pleasure. He'd just dusted his third when he realized his Slayer hadn't joined in. Did she want a show? He could put one on, demonstrate as few of the things he'd picked up over the summer… She could'a mentioned it, though, given him a heads up. Only polite… 

Then he caught sight of her face – the indecision, the shock of fear. The red haired fledgling jumped her and she yelped and went down without even raising her stake.

"Slayer!" His voice was ragged with his own fear. It washed through him, flooding him with nausea. _Buffy. Buffy. Buffy._ "Your stake!"

His fist flew out, smashing into the face of '_Think you'd ever get to be on top?'_, and he shook _'Dude, I think that's Spike' _off his back. When the younger one tried to hop back on, Spike roared out his rage, capturing the attention of all three remaining vamps. He whirled, his arm slamming into the side of _'Dude, I think that's Spike''s_ head, and the kid flew through the air, landing a good fifteen feet away.  He clambered to his feet and took off for parts unknown – kid could'a been a track star – and Spike ignored the leader, leaping toward Buffy. His stake came up and he was about to plunge into the back of the vamp on top of her when the redhead exploded into dust. Spike stake stopped it's deadly descent just inches from Buffy's breast.

For a second their eyes met in shock.

Spike spun away, running after '_Think you'd ever get to be on top?'_, who had apparently decided that _'Dude, I think that's Spike'_ had had the right idea when he'd taken off. A flying leap brought the gang leader down. Spike flipped him onto his back, tangling his right hand into his hair to hold his head in place, as he used his left fist to hammer on him viciously for several minutes. 

The physical violence, and the accompanying curses he heaped on the supine vamp didn't completely appease his fear, but they bloody well helped. 

"Spike!"

With one final growl he twisted the other vamp's neck, decapitating him. Slowly, Spike rose to his feet, kicked at the vamp dust, and turned to stare at his Slayer.

He wanted to backhand her for her stupidity, and then lock her up against him, and let her pounding heart slam against his chest, reassuring him that she was unharmed.

He did neither. Instead his mind was racing, replaying moments with her since she'd come back. Little things she'd said when they were together, things she hadn't said, the way she'd phrased some things. They hadn't talked much about personal things, had, for the most part, kept things casual… 

Spike felt a different kind of fear begin to take root inside him.

The dust had settled. Buffy was back on her feet and coughing, having inhaled a little of it. Even _he_ disliked inhaling vamp dust. It had a unique and unpleasant quality to it that seemed to linger in the throat for several hours. Even hot, fresh blood couldn't wash it away completely. When she'd recovered he stood directly in front of her, determination in every line of his body. His hands closed over her shoulders, and he dipped his head a little so that he could see directly into her eyes.

"Wanna fill me in, Slayer?" His tone was hard, but even.

She brushed some more dust from her jacket, and cleared her throat one more time. "Ugh! Why do I not carry water?"

Spike frowned. She seemed exactly like herself – her old self – the annoyed tone, the gestures, everything.

"Slayer?"

"Fill you in on what?" She looked genuinely confused.

Which, he suspected now, was a lot bigger deal than he'd thought.

~*~

He was angry.

Sometimes she could _feel_ things in him, dark things. Violence and rage flowing under his skin. Those things were never directed at her, though. At least, not now, not since she'd been brought – here. Brought – _back._

"You, this," he gestured vaguely at the piles of dust surrounding them. "That complete lack of any fighting skill you just demonstrated. And more. Asking me about Willow. Wanna tell me what the _hell's_ going on?"

She took a step back from him, retreating from his anger. She could feel her body tensing up. He advanced.

"Dawn told me you sometimes look at the Scoobies like you don't know who they are." His eyes pinned hers. 

She took another step back and he advanced again. He was toe to toe with her, his body leaning menacingly toward hers.

"Stop it," she muttered, leaning away.

"Sonofabloodybitch!" he growled. "You don't remember a damn thing, do you? Your friends, family, what you are."

"That's not true. I do remember."

"Do you?" he sneered in disbelief. "Tell me, Slayer, who's Giles?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Who's Giles?"

"He's my Watcher. I know who he is. At least… At least most – _some_ – of the time.  It's just… It's just not always – _there._ I have to stop and figure things out. Force myself to remember. And I do. I mean, mostly, you know. It's just…"

"You shouldn't have to." His voice still had an edge to it, but it didn't seem quite so – harsh.

"No. I _shouldn't_. And I don't understand why I _do."_ Her shoulders slumped a little as she dropped her defensive posture.

"How bad is it?" he asked bluntly.

"Not as bad as it was. For, um, awhile, I_ didn't_ know who people were." It felt kind of good to admit it, to share it with someone. "Their names. And I still have some trouble putting things all together in my head. Putting faces with names, last names with first names, how I know them, memories." She paused, before forcing herself to go on. "God, Spike, my mom... I have pictures of her in my head." Her eyes appealed to him, as she revealed herself further with a stark honesty. "But sometimes I worry that those pictures are there, not from real memories, but because there are pictures of her around the house."

"Bloody hell," he said, and his voice held sympathy now.

"And I have this horrible fear of running into someone who obviously knows me, 'cause I'm afraid I won't have a clue who they are. A lot of it…"

"Yeah?" he prompted.

"So often, I'm just confused." She let some of her aggravation show. It was so frustrating sometimes! "It's like everything has this – I don't know – fuzziness to it. That's what I call it. Like I kinda have to stare at it and squint a lot to bring it into focus. And then I remember. Everything seems clear. But then it might, um, get fuzzy again." Her voice dropped at the admission.

"It's like I don't feel connected to things, or people. I'm having trouble remembering what the relationships were like."

His jaw tightened. "That why you're spending so much time with me? Don't remember how it used to be between us?"

"No. I remember you, us."

"Right," he growled. "Don't bloody lie to me, Slayer. We weren't pals."

"No. I don't tell lies. I don't know enough about anything going on here to lie!" she blurted out with some exasperation. "But I do remember you. Clearly. You annoyed me more than anyone I've ever met. _All the time._ You were like…" she broke off, searching for words to adequately describe the degree of annoyance he had caused. "The Godfather of annoying things, the Crown Prince, the…"

"Not the King?"

"Yes, _sorry," _she said sarcastically. She took a step toward him, and now _he_ retreated a step, giving her her head._ "_The _King_." God, sometimes he could make her so…

"The bloody thorn in your bloody side?" 

"That too!" she agreed, her hand gripping her stake tighter. She saw his eyes flicker to it. "We violently disliked each other. You tried to kill me. I tried to kill you. We were enemies. Mortal enemies." 

Her breath was almost heaving in and out, and Buffy stopped suddenly. Oh, god! She forced herself to calm down, loosening her grip on the stake. She fell back again, slightly shocked with herself. She'd been angry just now, really _angry…_

And that hadn't happened in a very, very long time.

"And then – we – _weren't,_" she finished.

"And when did that change, exactly?" He didn't sound as if he was buying into her memories. Were they wrong? It was one of the few things she'd felt any certainty of… 

"When you protected Dawn." Her voice softened, and she felt the last of her aggravation with him melt away. "You let – someone – hurt you, torture you, to protect her. And then you promised me you always _would_. '_'Til the end of the world.'"_

She looked at him. "I'm not wrong about this, about us. I know it." But her eyes asked him to confirm her memories. She gave voice to the thought. "Tell me that's how it was."

His own stance relaxed, and she saw a kind of pain twist his face. He looked almost – haunted. 

"Yeah. I didn't do it, but yeah… You seem to have a pretty good handle on our history, how we were..."

Buffy frowned in concern. "Didn't do what?"

He shook his head in silence, turning away from her. 

"I remembered you," she went on, softly. "That first night, on the stairs. I don't remember time very well. It passed differently for me, and I'm having some trouble keeping track of it here." Now there was an understatement! "But that was the first night, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"I remembered you then."

"What did you remember?"

"That I could count on you. And that you watched out for Dawn." She looked at him now, at the somehow vulnerable curve of his back, the hunch of his shoulders. Her eyes were as soft as her voice. Memories flowed through her. Warmth. "The two of you were standing at the base of the stairs, and when I saw you there together, I knew. I looked down at you, I knew your names, and that…" 

_That you belonged to me, she finished silently. __Both of you. _

And more. Not right then, at that moment, when she thought perhaps, now, that she'd still been too deeply in shock to get past their names, and the sense of belonging. But not long after… Hours, days, maybe, but sometime soon after…

She'd felt _things running through her, vague pictures forming. Of him, of the two of them. Of – of time together, _of other times_, _other things_. Unfamiliar things. Glimpses. What's to come. A lot of those pictures were gone now, and even when she tried very hard, she couldn't recall them. Sometimes she felt desperate to remember them, to keep them close, but at other times, she felt at ease about the loss. Almost peaceful. It would be okay, she would soothe herself at those times. The lost images and the realities tied to them weren't gone forever. At least, they might not be… _

And some remained…

Within her…

Warmth and peace…

"Buffy?" Spike's voice came to her, a hard edge to it. 

Buffy blinked, focusing on him again.  His hands were on her arms, and he looked a little panicky. 

"What?"  she was confused. "What's wrong?" She glanced around, freezing as she realized she didn't know where she was. Damn, damn, damn. Her eyes closed and she swallowed. Don't panic, Buffy. It's okay. At least you're not alone this time. She drew a deep breath in through her nose, exhaled slowly.

"Nothing, love," Spike responded, and his voice had taken on the soothing tone she heard against her flesh in the night. His hand slid down her arm, and closed over hers. He raised it to his mouth, and pressed a kiss into her palm. "Let's get you home."

"All right," she agreed. They fell into step together.

Damn, damn, damn. Oh, yeah. Earth. Hellmouth. Sunnydale. Patrolling. She'd dusted some vampires. Well, one. It was her job. She'd been picked for it. No, _chosen._ She was the _Chosen One_. She wasn't sure she knew exactly what that entailed, but she was pretty sure the 'Chosen One' thingy was right.

They'd only gone a couple of blocks when Spike broke the silence.

"It might be a good idea for you to avoid going out alone at night, love."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. "Is this your way of telling me I sucked at the, um, fighting stuff?"

He seemed amused by the mixture of peevishness and amused self-derision in her voice. The corners of his mouth twitched.

"Seen you do better, Slayer."

"Flatterer. A few minutes ago you described it as _'a complete lack of any fighting skill.'_"

"Okay, yeah. You're a bit out of practice," he admitted. "And it might be best to skip patrol or make sure you patrol with someone else 'til you're feeling a bit less – fuzzy."

Buffy snorted. "Well, yeah. I knew that," she assured him. "Fuzzy, not stupid. I know the whole confusion thing is kind of a problem. And um, maybe some other stuff, too." 

She felt a little like she'd drifted away, gone somewhere else for a few moments. _Peace. Warmth. Comfort. _Had it been noticeable? She kinda thought maybe it had, judging by the look that had been on his face, and the fact that his body had been a lot closer to hers, his hands touching her, and she hadn't seen him move.

"But it really is getting better." He didn't look too convinced, and she didn't want him to worry too much. "If I patrol, I won't go alone. Alright?"

"You know I'm always up for a bit of the rough and tumble, Slayer," he said. "You wanna patrol, get back into the swing of things, you're gonna need me at your side." He puffed up a little. "None better, after all."

She looked him over. "Before tonight, I thought it was gone," she said, keeping a straight face with an effort. "But I was wrong."

"What's that?"

"Your ability to be annoying."

"Haven't lost it, huh?"

"No."

"Good thing," he said, satisfaction dripping from his tone.

"Why is that?"

"I figure your own annoying tendencies will be makin' an appearance any day now. Wouldn't want them to be lonely when they do."

She kept her expression bland. "Was I annoying?"

He rolled his eyes. "How did you annoy me? Let me count the ways…"

~*~

Gone, just like that. In the middle of a sentence. Only for a few minutes, only two or three, he tried to calm himself. Not that long at all, really. No bleedin' need to panic.

She seemed perfectly fine now. All there. Aware. 

He'd even seen some glimpses tonight. The first ones, really. Of _her._ The other Buffy. The one who hadn't come back. No, he told himself forcefully. She's in there. You _caught_ those glimpses of her tonight. _You did. Your Slayer. _All of her. She's all in there. She's just…

What?

Lost? Hiding?

…confused. Said so herself, didn't she? Just confused.

Spike glanced at her. This slightly different Buffy. The one who _had _come back. Who didn't remember a _goddamn bloody thing_ with any consistency. She'd said it was getting better. That it wasn't as bad as it had been the first few days. _When she hadn't fucking known who anyone was._

Except him, apparently. And Dawn.

She was looking up at the stars as they walked. She appeared to be calm. Almost serene.

In her right hand, she deftly twirled the stake with what seemed to be unconscious ease. 

_Glimpses._ They gave him hope.

Still, he thought he'd feel a bit better if the Watcher got back soon.

~*~


	4. Chapter Four

Journeys by Mary 

~*~

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love.

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

**Author's Note **

See notes, etc. preceding Chapter One.

I left this with the other reviews, but wanted to drop it in here, too, in case it was missed.

I wanted to take a quick minute to thank some of you who review who don't leave an address so that I can contact you personally. I've been meaning to do this, but that last (beautiful) note from blondel pushed me into doing it NOW! Several of you have been reviewing practically since the first chapter of Promise to a Lady (it's all one story, really), and I should have done this long ago. (I am NOT going to name names, because I'm sure to forget someone, and I don't want to do that.)  
  
I love the notes you've taken the time to write, especially when you point out specific things that touched you or affected you in some way - lines, or ideas, shades of the characterizations. When someone mentions that a chapter made them cry, I'm pleased - not because I want to make people sad (well, not permanently) - but because it tells me that something in that chapter WORKED - that it connected with that reader.  
  
I even appreciate it when you gently nudge me to remember that I should keep a consistent POV throughout a scene, or remember that the whole story isn't in your head already the way it's in mine, and that I can't gloss over things that might be important later. Having little things like that pointed out to me has been very helpful. It's been so long since I've done any writing, that I NEED these reminders. You know - so long as they're kindly worded and not - 'You idiot!' type notes... **G** Luckily, I haven't gotten any of those...yet!  
  
I honestly WANT people to be wondering about *some* things; What did that mean? Is that going to be important? What was the whole visions thingy? Hopefully, by the end of this saga, MOST will be revealed, although, I admit, I fully intend to leave some things vague, letting the reader reach their own conclusions about what 'really' happened. But, that said, I also don't want to jump past things, leaving readers going 'Huh?', so I might need it pointed out if things are getting TOO confusing. Does that make sense?  
  
To be told that my story is one of your all time favorites, or that each chapter is like sitting down to a dinner cooked by a star chef (another *g*)- well, it's bloody wonderful; rewarding for me in ways you might never know.  
  
And I thank you for that.  
  
Mary

Chapter Four

He hadn't discovered a bloody thing.

He'd spent nearly a week arsing about in the world of leaded glass windows, green shaded desk lamps, and endless acres of oak and mahogany polished to a glossy finish that was the Council Headquarters in London. Nothing tangible. Only one somewhat promising lead that had taken him out of his hotel and up to the Lake District for an additional ten days. And, in the end, that hadn't panned out either. 

The Council itself had had nothing to contribute. Either they honestly didn't know anything, or they were once again hiding their knowledge. This time, Giles was relatively sure it was the former. He'd been careful to keep many of his real questions to himself, and he'd certainly avoided mentioning Spike. Instead, he'd concentrated on the words themselves, trying to find them, or anything approximating them, in any written form; legends, prophecies, myths, the recorded dreams of former Slayers, notes in the diaries of their Watchers, obscure writings of known or unknown origin, someone's jottings on a napkin. Anything. 

And he'd found nothing.

He'd made some other contacts, selected sources and friends from his less reputable youth, but they hadn't been a great deal of help either. One or two had agreed to look into 'things' more deeply, and one other, perhaps the most promising, had frowned and told him the words seemed to ring a bell. Could she get back to him? Giles had given her his number in the States. 

He hated going home empty-handed, but he'd been gone nearly three weeks, and felt he really needed to get back to Sunnydale. He would just have to keep in touch with these old acquaintances, and hope they discovered, or remembered, something. At the same time, he'd need to keep up his own research. 

One of his old friends had directed him to several web sites that specialized in just the sort of obscure information he was seeking. Giles almost cringed. Computers continued to terrify him. Would he now have to force himself to adjust to them in order to access these sources of information? He tried to see a bright side to this idea. Oh! Perhaps the computer would actually_ reveal _information to him, rather than _concealing_ it as the Council seemed to enjoy doing. Of course that would probably only happen if he learned how to turn one of the dreadful things _on._

By the time he let himself into his apartment, Giles was feeling tired, and frustrated, and quite out of sorts. The flight had been long, and rough, the in-flight food deplorable. It had taken him nearly an hour to get a shuttle to the remote parking to retrieve his car at L.A.X. He should've paid the extra fare and gotten a connecting flight to Sunnydale. Next time, he promised himself.

He hadn't been out of touch with Sunnydale for this length of time since he'd first come to the States. To be honest, he was a bit nervous about what Anya might have done with the shop in his absence. He tried to assure himself that whatever it was, it would, if initiated by Anya, probably be good for business.

There were several messages on his machine. Only a few interested him. Three from Willow, two from Dawn, and one, rather to his surprise, from Spike. They all said basically the same thing. 

_Call me as soon as possible._ Followed by a complete lack of any remotely helpful details. _Really! You'd have thought they could be a bit more informative than that._

The last time he'd been gone for any length of time, there had been that somewhat distressing troll incident. Had something similar happened? Or, had the store burned down? 

Dear Lord, please don't let it be the foretelling of yet another apocalypse! It hadn't been anywhere near a year since the last one. Surely they were entitled to _some_ time to regroup? Especially now, without… Or – oh, perhaps the others had already averted it while he was blessedly oblivious on the other side of the world? He much preferred that scenario.

He called the Summers' house, and when he got no answer there, he tried Xander's. No luck. He couldn't remember Spike's cell phone number offhand, and wasn't sure where he had it written down. New-fangled contraptions. They just had to be ex-directory, didn't they? _Don't I pay the bill on the blasted thing? he thought_. I should know the number._ It was late, and the Magic Box would be closed, but perhaps he should drive by, assure himself it was still standing, and see if any of the young people were there._

Or he could just go to bed, and deal with whatever needed to be dealt with in the morning. Tempting as that sounded, he decided he'd better make the effort, regardless of his state of exhaustion.

He was, after all, a soundly reliable fellow. 

Sod it all.

There were several lights on in the Magic Box. Giles parked his car in front of the shop, and climbed out. The door wasn't locked, which either meant that someone was still here, or that someone was going to receive a stern lecture on carelessness tomorrow.

He heard a murmur of sound from the direction of the training room. He started in that direction, but then paused, debating the wisdom of continuing. At this rather late hour, it was most likely Xander and Anya, creating new and ever more unlikely sexual uses for the gymnastics equipment. He sincerely hoped the two of them always wiped the equipment down thoroughly after, er, _using_ it. He shuddered lightly at the thought. He would never grow accustomed to the former demon's penchance for sharing intimate details of her life with him. He had asked her quite bluntly to cease and desist, but he still had to glare at her with his piercing eyes at least once per week in order to avert further unwelcome knowledge and the accompanying visuals. 

As for the time he had inadvertently walked in on the young couple? Well, he preferred to pretend _that_ had never happened. He wasn't always successful. Further, he remained disturbed by the pleasure he sometimes took in remembering how really beautiful Anya's breasts were.

_Poor Watcher.__ Did your life pass before your eyes? Cuppa tea, cuppa tea, almost got shagged, cuppa tea._ How very amusing, Spike, he thought sarcastically, and not for the first time, as he remembered the words the vampire had spoken after a nasty fight on patrol one night near the end of the summer. Unfortunately, they were also true. He needed to start socializing again. Soon. With women. _A woman. There must be someone suitable in the area. Someone the right age, with intelligence, and who wouldn't think he was completely barmy because of his interest in the, er, – occult – for lack of a better word. Unfortunately, experience had taught him that that last bit often provided a major stumbling block in building a relationship. _

He listened for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to continue into the other room, or to leave. But then he heard a distinctly British voice, and a lighter, answering grumble. Dawn. He remembered Spike's stated intention of starting Dawn on some basic self-defense training, and glanced at the clock. 10:30. It did seem a bit late for Spike to be working with the young girl tonight, but at least he felt safe entering the room.

"Chill," Dawn said with exasperation. "I'll get it."

"I don't need to chill, pet. 'm there. And I know you'll get it, because we'll be working on it 'til you do."

Apparently, Dawn was more successful in the next attempt, because she laughed lightly as Giles moved far enough into the room to see them, and Spike made a sound of approval. The bot stood nearby, watching with quiet attentiveness. 

He had to admit, Spike's protectiveness of Dawn, his seeming absolute loyalty to her, had taken a great deal of stress off his own shoulders. He'd had a lot of trouble forgiving Dawn for being alive when Buffy was – not. He knew that attitude made no sense, and he'd often felt it made him much less of a man to even be thinking such a thing. But even that self-disgust hadn't prevented him from continuing to feel that way.

As the summer had moved into fall, and a good deal of his depression had lessened, Giles felt he had been able to rid himself of such thoughts, and start to accept that Dawn had had nothing to do with anything that had happened with Glory. To be truthful, she'd had no control whatsoever over anything that had happened around her or what had been done to _her_ – by the monks, or Glory, or Doc. To continue to somehow hold her responsible was ridiculous and petty. Of course he'd known that from the outset, but he was glad he'd finally been able to really_ feel_ it – emotionally as well as intellectually. 

By the time school had gone back into session, his long held love for Dawn had experienced a rebirth of sorts, and he remembered the intense joy he'd felt at being able to freely admit to it again. The joy had been mixed with a great deal of relief as well. Perhaps he wasn't quite the unfeeling monster he'd sometimes thought himself during the early months of the summer when he'd barely been able to look at the girl. 

He'd just been – human – and hurting. 

Depression could do such odd things to people – affect them in so many ways, many of which were completely unreasonable. Now that he seemed to be recovering from his depression, he needed to learn to forgive himself for some of the less than generous feelings it had led him to experience.

Giles watched the three of them now, his lips curling upward. They looked like such a – well, almost like a family.

Then his eyes narrowed. This wasn't right. Unless he was forced to patrol with it, Spike avoided the bot like the plague, and he couldn't imagine the blond willingly allowing the robot to intrude on his time with Dawn. Just as these thoughts were registering, Spike seemed to sense his presence, and he whirled toward him. That, in itself, was almost shockingly unusual. Normally Spike would have sensed him before he even entered the room. He watched the curious expression that came over the vampire's face.

"Rupert..."

At the single word, a stillness fell over the room, and Giles felt something run through him, something _strange._ A – an anticipation of some sort. He tried to read Spike's expression, then he shifted his eyes to Dawn. The teenager's eyes were wide, and he could see that she was practically bursting at the seams, longing to blurt out an excited stream of words, and was restraining herself with the greatest effort. 

"Rupert..." Spike began again. Then he continued very softly, his tone decorous. "We have news, my friend. You may wish to sit down."

But Giles' eyes had already gone past the vampire and settled instead on the being behind him. The one he had initially thought was the robot. And which he now knew was not.

He stared, his face raw with wonder.

"Buffy," he said softly. "My beloved girl."

Shock held him immobile for a long silent moment before he crossed the room, sliding his arms around her when he reached her side. She was here, a warm and living miracle. He bent his head over hers. 

"My darling girl. You've come back to us."

"Yes," she whispered, and he began to cry.

~*~

Later, when he thought about it, Giles realized that they'd really said very little of any consequence.  Mostly he'd gazed into her eyes, trying to assure himself that he wasn't hallucinating.

Dawn and Spike had decided to go to the Summers house, giving them some time alone. Spike had stood nearby as Buffy hugged Dawn goodbye, and there had been a moment, somewhat tense, and almost suggesting indecision – on the part of Buffy or Spike? – but then Spike had touched a hand briefly to the small of Buffy's back, and left the shop with her sister. Giles, standing in stunned amazement across the room, had only vaguely registered the exchange. 

_His beloved girl, his child, restored to him._

That phrase was playing over and over in his mind.

_His beloved girl, his child, restored to him._

They talked, and gazed at each other, and he shed a few more tears. Giles was sure he appeared quite dazed with a mixture of pleasure and shock, but if he did, Buffy's expression did not mirror the emotions of his own. Her eyes were intent on him, interested. But they were somewhat guarded as well. He could almost feel the fine tension that was running through her.

"How long?" he finally asked, after a prolonged silence.

"Only a few, um, not very long, really…"

"And you're okay? All your fingers and toes?"

That brought out a smile. She held up her hands and wriggled her fingers. "Would you like me to take off my shoes?"

"That shan't be necessary," he assured her. His eyes ran over her face. "You're the most beautiful sight I've ever seen…"

She actually blushed lightly, ducking her head, and another smile appeared.

"How did this happen? How? Were you brought back? Sent back? Do you know?"

Her smile faded. "The others – they brought me back," she told him. "But I don't know very much about it. I'm sorry. You should probably ask one of them."

He leaned toward her. "Where were you, my dear? What was it like? Were you aware? What happened?" _Tell me what its like to be dead. _

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he could have kicked himself. Apparently, his shock had also made him, temporarily, he hoped, extremely stupid. She'd finally relaxed enough to smile, and now he could see her withdrawing back into herself.

"I – I can't talk about it. Not yet. I don't know… Maybe later… I'm sorry."

"Don't," he stopped her stumbling apologies. "I should never have asked. Certainly not now. It was unbelievably clumsy of me, and I should be apologizing to you. Which I am. _I'm_ sorry."

_She couldn't talk about it._ So, she _had_ been aware on some level. And had memories. Memories too horrific to be talked about? Too terrible to share? Had she been in a hell dimension then, he wondered? Had the portal opened by Dawn's blood thrown Buffy into one of the dimensions they'd read of when they were researching Glory? They'd hoped that if they were able to discover which hell dimension Glory came from, they could, perhaps, find some weakness, something, anything… Glory kryptonite, Xander had called it. They'd been spectacularly unsuccessful. Giles felt the remembered hopelessness fill him for a moment, and he had to forcibly push it away. Glory was gone, dead. Their helplessness against her was something he no longer had to worry about.

And, in the end, they'd defeated her, hadn't they? Just moments too late, though, to avoid the terrible, terrible cost…

Or were her memories too painful in some other way; or simply too personal to share, not terrible at all?

He wouldn't push Buffy now. He thought of the past; thought of the other times she had been faced with traumatic situations, and how she would eventually share with him what he needed to know. That had been the case with Angel, at any rate, when she'd had to send him to hell, even though his soul had been restored. It had taken time, but she had finally shared. Maybe she would this time, too. When she was ready. He had dozens of questions, but he could wait to ask them.

"You know I'm here for you," he told her. He was unbelievably happy to see her, couldn't quite grasp that she was here and alive. He tried to put those feelings into his voice, into his expression. He wanted her to know what he was feeling, how much he loved her.  

He reached for her hands, taking them in his, and received his second great shock of the night.

She tugged her hands away quickly, jerking them close to her chest as she cringed away from him, and he felt a terrible jolt of pain at the rejection. Almost just as quickly, she reversed her action. Even before he could drop his hands into his lap, her mouth curved itself into a smile, and she offered him her hands again, her eyes apologizing.

"I'm sorry," she said. _Again._ "I'm, um, a little nervy sometimes. I'm sure it doesn't mean anything."

She didn't sound too sure, though, and he thought her phrasing a bit odd. Shouldn't she know if it meant anything? He took in the rigidity of her shoulders and the strained nature of her smile, and he knew without doubt that she was forcing herself to allow his touch, to entrust him with her hands. It pained him deeply, hurt in a way he couldn't have imagined, to _know_ she didn't want his hands to touch hers. Belatedly, he realized that she hadn't really returned his embrace when he'd first recognized her, either.

He squeezed those small hands gently, and released them. He might appreciate the gesture, but he wasn't going to make her any more uncomfortable. His track record through this miraculous encounter was rapidly worsening, and he felt disgusted at his own awkwardness. He hadn't always been good at conveying his feelings for Buffy to her, but in the months just before her death, he'd thought the two of them were improving in that area, finally able to tell each other how much they cared for each other. 

Giles let his eyes drink her in again. She's really here, he thought. _Alive._ He chose his next words with care, hoping to keep his foot well clear of his mouth. His excitement at her return was being tempered now with concern about her well-being. She looked to be physically fine; too thin, but otherwise healthy, and more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. But it was becoming increasingly clear that in other ways, she was perhaps, not quite herself. 

Which was only to be expected, he assured himself. She'd been dead for several months, after all.

"I don't know how you're adjusting. I get the impression you were aware, to some degree, on some other plane, and I hope that, when you're ready, you'll share that with me if you feel you can. I shan't press you. But even if I've misread that, and you weren't aware, just being brought back to life must be an enormous trauma. If you're having trouble getting on, please remember that I love you, and that I'm here for you. Anything you need to share, to talk about… When you're ready, I'll be here. Promise me you'll keep that in mind."

"I promise."

"In the meantime, take life slowly. Don't try to rush back into things. You've always had so many responsibilities, and I don't want you trying to take them all on again immediately. Your friends and I are here for you. Dawn and Spike, too, I'm certain. Let us help you."

He smiled at her gently, and resisted the urge to reach for her hands again, even though he longed to squeeze them in reassurance – for her and for himself.

"Will you do that?"

"I'll try," she said quietly, and he could see his words had warmed her. He felt a bit better. She stood up and reached for her coat. When she faced him again, much of the softness had left her eyes, revealing some determination, a glimpse of the girl he had known. "I don't want you to worry about me. Things have been a little odd, but… I'm going to be okay. Soon. I promise."

It was the first time all evening she'd even_ sounded_ familiar to him.

His eyes studied her carefully. "I've always worried about you, my dear," he reminded her. He longed to put her at ease. "But if I become too exuberant, you have my permission to tell me quite firmly to bugger off."

The offer raised another smile, brief but genuine.

"I want your word that you'll remember that I'm here for you; that I love you," he repeated.

"I'll remember," she promised him.

"Good." He smiled at her, and continued in a light vein. "Now, it's late, and I've had a very long day. I'm quite sure I shall be suffering intense jet lag tomorrow." He stood. "I have my car. May I give you a lift home?"

"All right," she replied readily, but he could hear that uncertainty in her voice again. "Thank you, Rupert."

~*~

Giles rarely smoked. It was a habit he had painstakingly broken long ago, one small detail among many in expunging his past, and he almost never allowed himself to indulge any more. But some circumstances just seemed to call for the inhalation of large amounts of carcinogens, and this, apparently, was one of them. 

He was saving the alcohol for later.

How many nights had he sat like this, here in the quiet darkness of his apartment, in those first weeks after her death? Too many, perhaps; brooding, mourning, waves of guilt and sorrow and pain lapping steadily at the edges of his mind. He was sorry that Spike had suffered, but he had to admit that the discovery of the vampire, wasting away in his crypt, had jump started his life again, shocking him into having to take action, to move, to make decisions, to _go on._

He wasn't brooding in the same way tonight, he assured himself, and to prove it, he'd lit a fire in the grate. It had died down rather quickly, though, as fires tend to do when they're not provided with fuel. He'd hardly noticed that little was left but glowing embers.

_His beloved girl, his child, restored to him._

He honestly could not remember a single instance in his life that even approached the depth of joy and wonder he was currently feeling.

And the terrible underlying fear. 

_Rupert…_

"Do you need a spot of bourbon to go with that smoke?"

The low voice reached him just before the flare of a cigarette lighter sent an artful pattern of light and shadow across the sharp features of the only vampire to currently have an invitation to his home. Spike touched the flame to his own cigarette, and snapped the lighter shut. Giles hadn't heard him come in, and he was reminded that the other man could move very quietly when he was of a mind.

"I promised myself I'd hold off on the alcohol until later," Giles responded evenly.

"You mind if I start without you?" Spike inhaled deeply on his cigarette, blowing the smoke into a room already thick with the stuff.

"Be my guest," Giles offered. "Am I going to regret my decision to wait?"

"You might," Spike cautioned, crossing to the small table that held Giles' limited supply of spirits. He glanced back at the Watcher. "Care to change your mind? Might ease the shock a bit."

Giles shook his head. Even in the near dark, he noted that the vampire reached unerringly for the decanter that held his best stock. Of course, Spike had excellent night vision, and apparently his memory for good alcohol was equally good. 

When the blond had been living with him, the alcohol levels in the apartment had gone down in dramatic fashion each week, due not only to his reluctant guest's consumption, but to his own. That had not been a particularly happy time of his life. He'd felt so useless for several months, struggling with Buffy's growing independence, and his fears that she would no longer need him, that he had little to offer. It had been a perfectly dreadful feeling, and it had been such a wonderful_ relief when she'd strongly disabused him of such notions after Dracula's visit._

Feeling needed, he thought, was very important to the human psyche. 

Spike splashed about an inch of the amber liquid into a short, squat tumbler. Cigarette and glass in one hand, he hefted a chair from the dining room and swung it over near the chair Giles occupied, straddling it. He rested his arms on the chair back, and settled in, taking a swallow of bourbon, and another hit off his fag.

"Got your mind all worked around things?" the vampire broke the silence.

"Hardly," Giles admitted. "I feel incredibly happy, yet at the same time, almost paralyzed with fear."

"Yeah, that sums it up nicely, doesn't it?"

"Were you a part of this? Did you help to bring her back?"

"No. Didn't know a bloody thing about it." Spike's tone was hard. "I'm not trusted, mate. And I'm pretty torn about the whole thing. Happiness and fear, like you said." He looked into his glass. "Not quite sure 'm over the shock yet, myself. Been an interesting few weeks, I'll say that."

Giles was aware that Spike's actions over the summer had not earned him a position of trust, at least not with everyone. Dawn, clearly, was completely in Spike's camp. The two seemed to grow closer on an almost daily basis. And, if he possessed any ability whatsoever to read facial expressions, Giles would guess that Tara had developed something of a soft spot for the vampire as well. The others remained at best, neutral, and at worst, hostile. Even this much more silent and remote incarnation of Spike didn't seem to leave many people feeling ambivalent. 

He'd already admitted to himself, well, furtively at least, that he rather liked Spike, and enjoyed spending time with him. The vampire, against all logic, and everything he'd ever been taught, had become a _friend._

Occasionally, Giles still gasped in shock when he admitted that to himself.

He had come to trust Spike in a good many ways. That didn't mean he didn't remain somewhat wary. He could never allow himself to forget or ignore that Spike was a vampire, that, at the very least, a demon resided in him. And that he had no soul. The specter of Angel/Angelus hung over him – over all of them. The difference in the souled and unsouled versions of Spike's grandsire had made a lasting impression on them, and had given them to very much fear the lack of a soul. Although Giles knew intellectually that it was unfair to judge all of a species on a single specimen – _and didn't that sound coldly scientific?_ – emotionally he still had some trouble getting past that. And past all those years of study with the Watcher's Council… Unsouled Spike was proving vastly different from unsouled Angelus, yes, but it still seemed wise to remain – alert. 

Over the summer, however, he had made the decision to start putting some faith in Spike. A little trust. Just a bit at a time. He could then stand back and see how Spike handled it. He was cautious, but he had every intention of continuing on that course unless Spike proved himself unworthy of the consideration.

Giles pushed aside the knowledge that Buffy's return might cause that tentative trust to be stretched in ways he hadn't thought would be possible ever again. Time enough to think of what to do in those circumstances if any of them arose, he told himself now.

"So this happened right after I left?"

"Yeah. A night or two later."

"How interesting," Giles intoned with some sarcasm.

"Gotta admit, that crossed my mind once or twice. The timing." Spike paused. "Not for a week or so, though. Think it took that long for my brain to start functioning again."

"I can completely sympathize with that feeling," Giles assured him. They mused on that briefly. "Buffy mentioned that 'the others' brought her back. I assume by that she meant Willow and Xander, Tara and Anya. Were they all involved?" he asked. "Dawn, too?"

"No. Little sis was on the Do Not Consult list along with you and me, but the others – yeah."

"Do you know anything about the spells they used – the powers they summoned? Any specifics?"

"'Spect you'd need to talk to Willow about that," Spike confirmed what Giles had instinctively _known._  

"Yes, I rather thought that might be the case. I had hoped… Oh, bugger. I think I will have that drink." He rose. "Can I get you another?"

"No, I'm good." Spike refused. He drained his glass, and set it on the floor. 

Giles brows rose, but he didn't comment.

"Tell me about Buffy."

The words seemed to be absorbed into the darkness of the room. Spike didn't respond. Instead he stood as well, and moved to the fire. He grabbed the poker and hunkered down; nudging the remains of the wood Giles had fed into the flames before he'd called Spike. (The cell phone number, it turned out, was revealed _in the current month's bill.) The vampire had sounded reluctant to abandon his vigil on the Summers' roof, but he'd made it pretty clear he expected the blond to appear shortly at his apartment._

_'I'll be waiting, Spike. Ten minutes.'_

Nothing half-arsed about that. It had taken the vampire nearly twenty minutes to arrive, but Giles had never doubted for a minute that he would show.

Spike carefully added a few logs to the glowing embers, mindful, Giles thought, of his own flammability. The flames began to lick lightly at the dry timber. 

He's building up the fire because he has things to talk about, Giles realized. He frowned. He could practically feel the tension rolling off the vampire, making the tension he'd felt in Buffy earlier pale in comparison. Curious. He'd spent endless hours with Spike over the summer, and Giles thought he'd gotten rather good at gauging his moods, at reading his expressions and body language. But he wasn't having much success so far tonight. 

The vampire's guards were up.

He'd almost asked Spike to meet him back at the Magic Box, rather than here. There, in the training room, they could be holding this meeting over the chessboard. Giles had learned that Spike often relaxed to some extent over chess, and opened up more. He never opened up a lot – that didn't seem to be in his nature, at least regarding anything personal. He'd unloaded his pain and guilt once or twice over the summer, but, for the most part, he revealed little, and indeed, seemed to guard himself almost rigidly.

Playing chess quite often enabled Giles to draw little pieces of information out of Spike. Not only did the game seem to open the door to information and news, it also, and much more importantly in Giles' mind, sometimes revealed little flashes of Spike's intuition. Giles thought he had rather a gift for that last bit. He didn't think the vampire was psychic, exactly, but often Spike would become restless – edgy, as he himself referred to it – and it often meant something. Something they should be taking note of, something they should be paying attention to. Had he inherited that from his Sire, Drusilla? 

On the other hand, the edginess could also mean he was refusing to reveal something, lying, or was just in the mood to kill something. Giles sighed. It was so difficult to tell sometimes with Spike.

Perhaps the chessboard wouldn't be missed – even thought his guards appeared to be up in force, Spike seemed to be settling in for a lengthy natter. 

Giles poured his drink, and returned to his chair. Spike remained in front of the hearth, poking desultorily at the fire. 

"What did the Slayer say?" he hedged, and Giles' eyes narrowed. He certainly recognized_ that tone and the accompanying little shift of his shoulders. He might have things to share, but as well as having his personal guards up, he also had information he intended to keep to himself. What, Giles wondered, feeling a touch of anger mixed with resentment, and why did he feel it necessary to withhold it?_

"She said very little to me," Giles' voice was clipped. "She apologized to me more times than she has in all the time I've known her, told me 'the others' had brought her back, cringed away when I touched her hands, and called me Rupert." Giles let his words sink in. "You're an observant fellow, Spike." There was a dangerous undertone to the Watcher's voice. "Why don't you fill me in?"

"It was a couple of nights after your flight out, like I said," Spike began. "Big gang of hard ass demons rode into town on motorbikes and had themselves a real good time terrorizing the locals. The bit and I were at a movie – Friday night, you know – and when we came out of the theater, there was a good size group of the rotters hanging about just a block or so down the road. I think they were L'ubakm-Etyk demons, but I didn't get a good look. I hid Dawn in an alley, rustled up some transportation for us, and when I went back for her she was gone." He jabbed viciously at the wood, sending sparks flying in every direction. He took a minute to collect himself.

"Seems the Slayer wandered into the alley, Dawn saw her, somehow managed to keep her head, and towed Buffy home. I met up with them there. Not long after, the Scoobies arrived, made it clear they'd done some spell to resurrect her. They didn't think they'd succeeded."

Very slowly, Spike stood and, with careful, controlled movements, he replaced the poker in its stand. "They left her," he grated out. "In. The. Ground." His right hand was fisted tightly, but his left was clenching rhythmically. "Alone."

"Dear Lord," Giles breathed, horrified. 

"Clawed her way out." Spike's head came up. "She had to fucking claw her way out of her coffin. She's having nightmares about that – all the time. Panic attacks during the day, too. Can't breathe, can't…"

Spike moved back to the dining room chair, and swung his leg over it. His movements were sharp, angry. Giles could see he was still calming himself.

"Does she talk to you about these coffin dreams, then?" Giles was curious.

"Yeah. 'Cause I've been there myself, I guess." Spike lit a cigarette. "And they're not dreams. They're nightmares. There's nothing dreamlike about them at all," Spike clarified.

"Aside from these nightmares and panic attacks, how does she seem to be adjusting?"

"She's confused a lot. Says things are 'fuzzy'. It seems she's having a lot of trouble remembering people, and her old life here. I don't know what would cause that – shock, maybe? She told me she remembered you, but if she called you Rupert… Bloody…" Spike broke off. "_I_ called you Rupert – in the training room, when you came in. Should've known better… If I'd've clued her in a little…"

"So she doesn't know who I am?" A feeling of hurt curled through him, similar to that he'd felt when she'd pulled her hands away from him. The hurt joined a fairly large number of other emotions roiling through him.

"No. She does. Least that's my guess. She called you her Watcher the other night when I asked her. She's just having some trouble making all the connections, has to think things through a bit longer than normal." Spike tipped his head. "Few days, sometimes. She says it's getting better," he added off Giles' shocked expression. "And a lot of it sort of comes and goes."

Giles' kept his eyes firmly trained on Spike. "Go on. I'm sensing there's more."

"She drifted off the other night. In the middle of a sentence. It spooked me. She was talking; then she was just gone. Lasted a few minutes. I'm not sure she was aware it happened."

"Some kind of seizure, perhaps?"

"She wasn't shaking."

"There are silent seizures, too. They can appear quite like you just described."

"Yeah, petit mal seizures," Spike acknowledged. "Don't they usually involve blinking, or chewing motions, or twitching facial muscles, though?"

Giles took a moment to gather himself. For some reason, Spike's ability to sometimes come up with these rather obscure pieces of information never failed to surprise him. 

"This was more like she just went somewhere else for a bit. A little side trip to Neverland. Like when Glory snatched Dawn, except much shorter. And she came back on her own, didn't need the witch traipsing through her mind. I told her I didn't think she should patrol alone 'til she's feelin' more her old self."

"_Has_ she patrolled?"

Spike sat up a bit straighter. "Just started the other night. Had a bit of trouble the first time out, but she's doin' a lot better already, gettin' her form back. She joined me tonight at the Magic Box for a bit of a work out while the bit was finishing up with Anya." He took a drag off his cigarette. "Nowhere near the top of her form, like I said, but if you'd seen her last week, you'd be right proud of her progress." 

Giles was frowning, running the pieces of information through his mind.

"Perhaps I should run a series of tests on her…" he began.

"No," Spike interrupted harshly. "Not yet."

"I assure you, I would never –" He was feeling somewhat annoyed with Spike and he wasn't quite sure why. Resentment that he knew so much more about what was going on? That Buffy had quite obviously shared with him? That made no sense. Spike had been here, _he_ had not.

Emotion was often not terribly logical.

"Just give her some time, Watcher."

"Look, I know you care about her, Spike, and I have no intension of getting into any type of pissing contest with you over who knows better what's best for her…"

"Do you?" Spike asked, his own low tone containing an element of danger now, too.

"Do I what?" Giles asked in exasperation. He hated being interrupted.

"Know that I care about her?"

"Spike –"

"Willow and Xander came to see me yesterday while I was working out at the Magic Box."

Giles felt the tension in the room thicken, and he knew he was about to be told the reason it had been hanging in the air since Spike's arrival. With that opening sentence, though, he was already relatively certain of the cause. 

"Did they?"

"Yeah. I figured it must be important if Harris took the time off work. They wanted to offer me a bit of advice. Make a request, I guess."

"And that was?" Giles kept his tone carefully even.

"It had come to their attention that the Slayer was having some problems adjusting to being back. They thought it might be best to try to make things as 'normal' as possible for her. Backtrack a bit. Try to make everything like it was before."

"I see. Less Spike."

"Lots less." Spike confirmed. "They thought the time I spend with the bit, the patrollin' and stuff, might be making the Slayer feel unneeded."

Giles felt a momentary flash of sympathy, recalling his earlier thoughts of the emptiness of not feeling needed. Apparently Spike didn't like whatever expression moved across Giles' face, because his pent up tension exploded into the room, and he surged to his feet furiously.

"Oh, right!" He grated. "Don't tell me you buy that tripe. Or doesn't it really matter?" he went on. "One excuse is as good as the next, is that it?"

Giles hadn't really comprehended that his own tension had been building, simmering just under the surface, but quite suddenly, he was on his feet as well, and the two were arguing loudly, words flying back and forth, covering and drowning out the words of the other. Violence permeated the room.

"…needs me…"

"…best interests…"

"…not gonna abandon her now…"

"…well-being…"

"…sodding clue…"

"…help her in any way…"

"…give a rat's arse…"

"…no intention…"

"…guard her, protect her…"

"…do my utmost…"

"…never hurt her…"

"…never hurt her…"

"…bloody well love her…"

"…bloody well love her…"

They both stopped. Cold. Their shouted words seemed to echo in the dark room, as the two men stood frozen, only a couple of feet apart, their bodies thrumming with aggression.

Giles was quite sure the pounding of his heart must be nearly deafening to the vampire.

A log shifted position in the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. The sound seemed to break some of the tension.

Giles moved first. His shoulders slumped, and he took a step back, plopping down into his chair. He removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. So much for putting this issue off.

Minutes of silence stretched out.

At last, Giles spoke. "I know you love her, Spike," he said with quiet sincerity.

Spike's back was to the fire, casting his face into complete shadow. But even though Giles couldn't see his features at all, he knew those blue eyes were riveted to his own face, and he could feel the blond's shock. After a moment, Spike spun away and went to the fireplace. He braced a hand against the mantle and lowered his head, staring into the flames. A black booted foot kicked lightly at one of the logs.

There was another lengthy silence.

"I can't believe she's back," Spike said, at last, very softly. "Can't believe she's alive."

"The greatest wonder of my life," Giles' voice was equally soft.

"Yeah," Spike murmured his agreement. He turned his head to look at the other man. After a moment, he inclined his head slightly. Giles echoed the gesture, as they both acknowledged the love the other held for the Slayer. Acknowledged it, and agreed to respect it. Spike looked back into the flames again.

Giles watched the vampire. He'd been bracing himself for it, Giles realized. To be shown the door. _'Thanks for all you did, not needed any more, let me show you the way out – of the house, the town, our lives – don't really wish to see your face again, business end of a stake if I do, but it's been quite nice, really…' Though he'd never said it, Spike must have known that it had been easier for Giles to accept him once Buffy was gone, and the vampire's feelings for her no longer seemed to present any type of a – threat. Easier, _safer._ Giles guessed he'd subconsciously been preparing himself for the rejection since Buffy's return. Perhaps he'd even considered this meeting a test of their still new friendship, which could further explain the tension Giles had felt almost as soon as Spike arrived._

"I know you'd never do anything to hurt her," Spike said, carefully reintroducing the subject. "And there are things I'm concerned about myself. She's just – she's feeling kinda crowded right now. The Scoobies are worried about her, and that just seems to make her more…" He shrugged. "It upsets her, I think, and if she feels like you're gonna start pokin' and proddin' at her…"

"You've obviously been spending time with her." Giles' voice was also careful. "And have had a far better chance than I to take stock of the situation." He paused, letting Spike absorb that. "I have a question, though, and I'd like you to give me an honest answer."

Spike straightened, and his hands slipped into the pockets of his duster. His tension, while not completely gone, had obviously dropped back to more normal levels. He was waiting.

"Do you feel there's any possibility whatsoever that it isn't really Buffy?"

Giles expected a quick, perhaps even angry, denial, but Spike seemed to be giving the question careful thought.

"No," Spike said at last. "No. It's her. She's different, yeah, but inside… It's like I can – feel it, feel _her. Recognize something inside her. But…"_

"Yes?"

"She's not quite herself.  The bit has noticed it, too. She feels like some parts of her sis are missing. But I don't know if parts are missing or if it's more that some pieces haven't quite clicked into place yet." Spike paused, smirking a little. "Dawn compared her to the bot with a short circuit."

That drew a reluctant smile from Giles as well, and the remaining tension in the room dissipated.

"Could just be the memory problems." Spike took a moment to light another cigarette before adding with some humor, "'Course the politeness is 'freakin'' Dawn out a bit, too."

"Yes, it rather threw me, too," Giles agreed. "We shall have to make every effort to see that that characteristic stays firmly in place as her, er – misplaced pieces – continue to reassert themselves. I fully expect you to back me up in that endeavor. I found it quite refreshing, I must say."

Once again he noted Spike's surprise, as he made it clear he was willing to accept, for now, at least, the vampire's assessment of the situation. 

"Now, why don't you sit down again, and tell me a bit about Willow?"

Spike seemed reluctant to get into the subject of the young witch, but he complied, seating himself once more.

"It's not like I spend much time with her, or even around her," he began. "And there's nothin' I can put my finger on.  She's had power – we all know it. What she was able to do with Glory, other things. Goin' into my mind that night – at the tower – and a time or two since…

"I think she's pleased with herself right now, excited. Should be, I suppose. She brought her friend back from the dead, didn't she? Gives her reason to feel proud.

"But her power…" He paused. "It seems to have altered a little. Shifted, maybe. 'm not sure." He looked up into the Watcher's face, and Giles again regretted the darkness of the room. He would have liked very much to see Spike's expression right now. "The Slayer told me that Red makes her a bit 'twitchy'."

Giles eyes narrowed. That sounded a lot like Buffy's 'spidey sense'. He told Spike as much. "Willow hasn't developed an aversion to sunlight, has she?"

"Not to my knowledge," Spike gave a snort of amusement. 

"Trouble, do you think?" Giles asked with more seriousness.

Spike shrugged. "Dunno. Not necessarily." He took a final drag off his cigarette and turned to toss the butt into the fire, which was dying down again. "Not all power causes problems. That kind, though, enough to bring our Slayer back? It usually comes at a price. Not the type of thing to just be handed over. And consequences… Guess it wouldn't hurt to keep your eyes open."

Giles fully intended to. He doubted he'd be far off the mark if he interpreted Spike's words to mean; _'__If I had my way, I wouldn't let her within a country mile of anyone I care about, and you'd be a bloody fool if you did, either.'_

"Thought I might have a chat with her," Spike went on. "Didn't want to get into anything yesterday with Harris there."

"Don't be daft, Spike. I'll talk to Willow," Giles stated firmly.

Spike drew back, seemingly surprised, but didn't say anything.

"I've known her for years, and I've never once tried to kill her," Giles explained. "Those two reasons alone make me the obvious choice."

Spike made a sound of amusement.

It was only a few minutes later that Giles walked his guest to the door, locking it behind him.

The initial shock of Buffy's resurrection was wearing off, and his exhaustion was coming back. He'd gotten an overview of the situation, and nothing further could be done tonight, anyway.

It wasn't until Giles had banked the fire and was preparing for bed, that he realized Spike hadn't asked him a single question about what had happened in England; if he'd discovered anything. The vampire had tried to tell him he didn't care about the possible meaning of words spoken to him in a vision. Actually, Spike had been rather less polite in his wording. But his complete lack of curiosity told Giles that, quite possibly, the blond really _didn't_ care. Had those words that had so captured his own attention become, after the first desire to understand them, only meaningless syllables to the vampire?

He switched off his bedroom lights and lay back on his pillow. It was always so good to be back in one's own bed.

The next few weeks, and more, the next few days, were probably going to have more than their share of uncomfortable situations, and not a little stress. Aside from indulging himself with the pleasure of gazing on his beloved girl again, he wasn't looking forward to one bloody bit of it.

He was worried about Buffy. Spike seemed to feel that the problems she was facing were, for the most part, only temporary, and Giles sincerely hoped that was the case.

Still…

He was more concerned about the possibility of lingering effects from the unknown spell or spells Willow had used. Magic could be so unpredictable, so filled with – consequences. Spike had used the same word, and, in his experience, it was a very appropriate one. 

He didn't want to go off half-cocked. He'd known Willow for years, and cared for her deeply. But this… Had she just not known the chances she was taking? The forces she was playing with? He was anxious – almost sickeningly so – to get his hands on the spells she'd used, the sources from which she'd obtained them, to have the opportunity to study them.

The coming confrontation with Willow weighed heavily in his mind. He hated the very idea, and would give almost anything to not have to carry through with it, but he knew he had little choice. 

He was, after all, a soundly reliable fellow. 

Sod it all.

~*~


	5. Awakenings Chapter Five

Journeys by Mary 

~*~

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love. 

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

See notes,etc. preceding chapter one.

Chapter Five

Buffy staked the last of the three vamps, and Spike, seated casually on a nearby grave stone, eyed her with satisfaction. Definite improvement. 'Course, he hadn't expected anything else. She was still the sodding Slayer, wasn't she? And after that pitiful showing their first night out, there really hadn't been anywhere to go but up, had there? 

He was damned proud of his lady. 

"Not bad, Slayer."

"That big one…" she began.

"Yeah, a little too close for comfort," he agreed. "Thought I might have to climb off my comfy box seat and save your arse."

Buffy blew her hair out of her face and glared at him. He drew in his cheeks. 

"Told you, pet. Take out the strongest first. All that movie crap about leaving the leader for the big showdown at the end? Might work for dramatic purposes, but it's a good way to lose a fight." 

Personally, he liked leaving the strongest for last. It increased the challenge. But his own preferences weren't the issue here. Keeping his Slayer alive, getting her retrained, was. 

"They like to hide behind their – um, newlier risen vamps," she complained.

He managed not to gape at _that line. "In vamp circles we call the 'newlier risen vamps' fledglings, or minions," he offered, straight faced. "There's a distinction, but it's probably immaterial for staking purposes."_

"Oh, okay. Um, sorry." She was brushing dust from her clothing, and shaking it out of her hair. He didn't recall ever seeing her do that in the past, and he found it endearing in some completely inexplicable way.

"Don't apologize."

"Sorry." Buffy went still, obviously realizing what she'd said. "I'll, ah, keep working on that."

He smirked. "Do that." He let his eyes drift over her. "Aside from the apologies, you're more yourself everyday, love," he assured her. "Sometimes, I can practically see the all the little bits and pieces clicking into place in your mind."

"You can?" Buffy asked, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes. "Are they in focus when you see them?"

"Still pretty fuzzy, huh?"

"Yesss." There was a slight hiss of disgust in her voice. Absently, and expertly, she twirled her stake. "Maybe I just need glasses. With really thick lenses." She paused, looking thoughtful, "Still, stuff isn't quite as fuzzy as it was, er, before. I figure, ten, fifteen years, tops… everything will be as clear as a – really clear thing."

"Your witty repartee is a bit on the fuzzy side, too, Slayer." They began walking together, heading for the cemetery gates.

"Unlike your increasingly clear annoying tendencies."

"Coming through in all their Technicolor glory, are they?"

Buffy looked down, but he caught the smile anyway.

"Yeah."

"Admit it, Slayer. I annoy you, it helps keep you on your game."

"Is that what you tell yourself, Blondie?"

"It's the truth!" he insisted. "Gets your blood up, makes that stake of yours strike true." 

They'd left Restfield Cemetery behind, and were strolling toward Revello Drive. It was getting late, and he figured they'd done enough for the night. Not only had his Slayer handled the vamps with more style than she'd shown since her return, she'd led the way, _unaided_, to two cemeteries they hadn't visited before. He'd noticed more than once that when she was relaxed and not trying so hard to force details into 'focus', they came a hell of a lot easier. 

Since the night she'd told him about some of the problems she was having, they'd patrolled together every night. Buffy seemed quite intent on her job, and he could sense an almost grim determination in her at times. The Watcher had told him that in the past, he'd often had trouble getting Buffy to train with any intensity, but that didn't seem to be the case now. While she still had a long way to go, and there sometimes seemed to be some elusive, but necessary, element missing, she was putting in a lot of effort, working hard to hone stale skills. 

Their time together was not silent as it had been in those first couple of weeks, when she'd seemed to desire quiet and peace above all else. They talked a lot now, casually, about little things, about movies they watched, about Dawn, about day to day nothings. Slowly, and sparingly, he'd begun sharing some impersonal details of his long life – places he'd been, first hand accounts of some historical events he'd witnessed or been close too. She listened, showed interest, sometimes asked a few questions. And she seemed to enjoy the fact that she could ask him about her own past, about details she was having some trouble with. He knew her memories were there, just under the surface, and that she spent a lot of time anxiously trying to weave them all together. Sometimes, he thought she asked him to confirm or supply details just to give her brain a rest.

And, from what Dawn told him, she was still escaping the Scoobies by shutting herself away in her bedroom or slipping out the window. 

Damned shame, that, he thought. Feelin' the need to hide out in her own house.

~*~

"Willow and Xander wanted to patrol with us tonight," Buffy said. "I think they were kinda upset when I turned them down. I know they used to patrol with me, but I'm not sure I understand why. It just seems that it endangers them – patrolling. They're not fighters. I have this vague memory of someone saying that I spent a lot of my time sort of – rescuing them."

_"So I told him Buffy spends 78% of her times saving her friends."_

It was Anya's voice, she realized now; a past event being related and greeted by the laughter of several people. Comfortable, relaxed laughter, from people acknowledging that they sometimes had to be pulled out of a dire situation, but confident that their contributions outweighed that.__

"Seen you charge in to save their hides more than once myself. And a Slayer with friends? Not how it's usually done, pet. But you lot worked well together. I think it helped you more than hurt you."

Did it? Yeah, she nodded to herself, that _did feel right. Rapid fire images flashed through her mind – battling with Willow and Xander and Giles at her side, occasionally with Anya or Tara. Sometimes the images contained others. A guy in fatigues, a dark haired vampire, a short guy who's hair changed color from image to image. Their names escaped her for the moment, and she didn't spend time right now trying to pull them up. _

They'd been a team. A very effective team. 

Mostly.

_And a Slayer with friends?__ Not how it's usually done, pet._

_A Slayer is destruction. Absolute. Alone. _

Buffy's pace slowed to a stop, and she put a hand to her head for just a moment. Spike came to a halt as well, looking back at her with some concern.

"You okay?" He moved closer. "Did you hit your head on a grave stone? One of those wankers didn't get a claw into you, did they?" His eyes began to run over her assessingly.

**_No._**

She _hadn't_ been alone. She _hadn't. She'd had friends. __She still did. She was having some trouble _feeling_ it all right now, but she knew she hadn't been alone._

Pain rushed through her, intense and unexpected, and Buffy moved her hand to her chest, curling it over her heart, and pressing down hard. Oh, god… 

_She **had** been alone. _

_She'd** always** been alone._

_Always.___

**_No._**

_Please, no._

"Love?"

"I – I'm f-fine," she assured him. Her hand fell away from her breast and she straightened her shoulders as she began walking again. They had gone several blocks before she broke the silence. Spike had been glancing at her speculatively, and she'd been trying to ignore the questions in his eyes. 

"You know that movie we watched the other night?" she asked.

"Which one?"

Watching movies together had become a fairly regular occurrence since she'd been brought here. 

"'_Mirage'_."

"You picked it," he said defensively.

"When I saw his picture on the box, I was all excited to remember that my Grandma Summers liked Gregory Peck, so I thought we should try that one. You know – in honor of my Grandma, and a moment of clarity on the part of my memory."

"You thought it was your mum who liked him," he felt compelled to correct her.

"Yeah, well, that turned out to be Sean Connery, Remind-O-Guy. But I definitely knew that one female in my family tree was hot for Gregory Peck."

He frowned. "Sean Connery, huh? Lots of birds go for that James Bond type. I'd've thought Joyce would've been a bit more discerning." 

"I think, for mom, it was less James Bond; waaay more Captain Ramius," Buffy clarified. "What. Ever… '_Mirage'_."

"Told you – you picked it. I didn't know it had anything to do with amnesia."

"Do you think I don't want to remember, like someone told Gregory Peck?"

"No," he answered, his voice firm. He stopped walking again, and curled a hand around her arm, bringing her to a halt as he turned her to face him. "I think you're traumatized by everything that's happened to you, and you're _adjusting. Which is bloody well gonna take some time. And just for the record? You haven't __got amnesia. You're just having some trouble remembering things quickly. Your memories are there. You know they are. They're just not as – accessible – as they should be all the time. _

He dipped his head, bringing his eyes on level with hers.

"You want my honest opinion, Slayer?"

She nodded. 

"I think you should stop fashing yourself over it. Let it go, let it come back in its own time. Maybe your mind knows just what it's doing, and why, and you should just go with that." His hand left her arm, and touched a strand of her hair before dropping back to his side. "Everything is gonna be fine."

"Do you really think so?" Her eyes were appealing. 

She wasn't – hiding – was she? _Was she?_ Were there things she didn't want to remember? She didn't _feel that way. Sometimes she felt absolutely desperate to be able to think clearly, to not have to dig and probe inside herself. When she was alone, she'd been working hard to really concentrate and catalogue every image that flashed through her brain. It was unbelievably exhausting.  Maybe she should just take Spike's advice and let it all go – wait for it to happen naturally. It was so hard though. She felt restless, anxious to get it all back, because she might need it…She _had _to be able to grasp things quickly, because she needed to stay on top of things. That was part of what she… part of… __her. _

It was so frustrating to not be able to remember things – normally – like she should be able to. And embarrassing sometimes, she thought, thinking of the other night with Giles.

Buffy couldn't recall much of what she and her Watcher had talked about. Probably, she thought, because she'd been so distracted trying to pretend she knew who he was. When he'd walked in to the training room, she'd gotten a little nervous, pulling into herself as she seemed to when people who were not Dawn or Spike came into talking range. _Oh god, please don't let this be someone I'm supposed to know._ When Spike had called him Rupert, she'd relaxed. The name didn't feel familiar. But his reaction to seeing her; his heartfelt '_my beloved girl', _made it quite clear she _did_ know him. She'd tensed up more, struggling to grab memories. 

Ten minutes after Dawn and Spike left them alone, she'd _known_ he was very special to her, as she obviously was to him, but it wasn't until a few minutes after he'd dropped her off at the house, that all the details wove themselves together in her head. When she was _away from him, she realized now, when she wasn't frantically trying to 'get' it all._

_"Let it go, let it come back in its own time."_

Poor Giles, she thought again. He must have been so shocked – by her resurrection, by her reactions, by her calling him _Rupert_. Buffy almost cringed just thinking about it. She'd felt guilty the rest of the night, and had been anxious to talk to him the next evening at the Magic Box, to try to find some way to explain. But by that time, he'd already asked Spike about some of the difficulties she was experiencing.

_"Wasn't like I was sharing secrets, love," Spike had defended himself._ "Just filled him in on a few things."__

"Yeah, I really think so," Spike told her now. He looked into her troubled face and seemed to come to some decision. 

"Got an idea, Slayer. Something that might help." There was a gleam in his eyes, and he grabbed her hand, tugging her along in his wake. "Come with me."

~*~

"And where did you get a motorcycle?" she asked.

"Thought I told you. I nicked it from those biker demons that were terrorizing the town the night Willow brought you back."

Buffy shuddered. Those demons sometimes made appearances in her nightmares.

"I punched a demon off the bike and took it, before going back to get Dawn. She wasn't there." The remembered fear and terror of that moment was clear in his voice.

Buffy's eyes shot to his. 

"Dawn is fine," she reminded him. "They didn't hurt her, didn't touch her. She's _fine."_

"Yeah." His clenched fists relaxed. "Yeah, she is." 

He swung a leg over the bike.

"Hop on, Slayer," he invited, his voice lighter now. "We're taking a ride."

Buffy backed away a step. "Oh, I don't know..."

"Come on. It might blow some of the cobwebs out of your mind." When she still hesitated, he raised a scarred brow. "Not afraid, are you?" 

She met his eyes, acknowledging the challenge. Her own brows went up, and both her expression and her tone were one hundred percent Buffy Summers, pre-tower. "Never."

She climbed on.

"Hold on, love," he warned her, and they roared away from the curb, heading out into the night.

Spike handled the bike like he'd been born to it. They ripped along the road, leaving Sunnydale behind in a matter of minutes. Out into the country, picking up speed, and oh, god, she – she thought, maybe, maybe, she_ liked_ it.

Neither of them were wearing helmets, and the wind was whipping her hair wildly around her head, across her face, then back. She was nestled up close behind Spike, her arms wrapped firmly around his waist, her hands loosely fisted and resting against just above the button of his jeans.

She discovered she loved leaning into the curves with him, matching his movements, her body working effortlessly in synch with his to keep the ride smooth. She felt free, alive, kinda – um, _wonderful._ The release of tension was amazing. Here, she didn't have to know anything, remember anything, didn't have to… God, she just wanted to keep riding. On and on. Even the danger appealed to her on some level she didn't quite comprehend.

Oh, god, this was…

"Okay?" Spike shouted back to her.

"Perfect," she yelled into his ear, finishing her thought.

She never saw his mouth curve with satisfaction.

~*~

It was nearly two hours later when he pulled over to the side of the road. They were in the middle of nowhere, but he still thought a break to let his Slayer stretch her legs would be a good idea.

Buffy clambered off the bike, stumbling a little. His arm shot out, catching her elbow in an effort to help her regain her balance. She laughed.

_She laughed.___

The sound was so welcome, and so completely unexpected that Spike was shocked by it. A weird feeling thrummed through him, pleasure blooming almost painfully in his chest. If she had just told him she would love him forever, it could not have given him more pleasure than the sound of her laughter.

_"Buffy."_

His voice was hushed, and as she was still straightening her clothing and her limbs she didn't seem to hear him. She finished adjusting her blouse, and looked up at him, smiling. He forced a returning smile.

He climbed off the bike and sat on the ground, lighting a cigarette. After stretching a little, Buffy sat down beside him.

"Liked the motorbike, did you?" he asked casually.

"Oh yeah," she enthused. Her voice was animated, and filled with more pleasure than he'd heard in it since she'd come back. Or for several months before she'd died, for that matter.

His smile was genuine this time. "We'll ride again, then. Anytime."

"Don't think I won't take you up on that," she said. "Because I will."

"'m counting on it, love." He laid back in the soft grass just off the shoulder of the road, curving one arm behind his head, and took a deep drag on his cigarette.

"That cobweb line? My Gran used to say that," she told him thoughtfully. 

"Are you saying my vocabulary is dated?" he asked, scowling at her through the smoke and the darkness. 

"Well, you are old," she returned. "But no, I was implying that I remember it. Clearly. No fuzziness."

"Yeah? Tell me," he invited.

"It's was my mom's mom – Grandma Robinson. Technically, she was already Grandma Rayburn then, living on a ranch in Texas with her second husband. They had this long, flat dirt road on their property, and we'd go for walks on it all the time. Just the two of us. It always seemed to be dry and dusty, and I would kick at the dirt while we walked. Sometimes it swirled into those miniature tornado thingies. You know, the non-scary ones." Buffy smiled in remembrance. "I liked them. Thought I was pretty hot stuff, too, that I could make them just by kicking at the dirt."

"You liked the power," Spike interjected.

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. "Right," she responded with sarcasm. "Gran told me that she needed to take walks several times a week in order to 'blow the cobwebs out of her mind'." Buffy paused. "Which completely wigged me. I was so freaked, trying to figure out how the spiders got into her head, and, of course, when bedtime rolled around, there was no way, no how, I was gonna sleep in that house. I threw a complete Buffy Summers tantrum."

"'Spect you were right good at them as a tot, too." She could still throw a fairly memorable tantrum. Or she had been able to – _before. The jury was probably still out on whether that ability had survived. "I think the bit inherited that talent from you. Must be in the blood."_

This time she didn't bother with the eye roll. She just gave him _the look _before continuing.

"I had all these horrible visions of spiders crawling into my ears and –" Buffy curled her hands into claws and emphasized her words with them, shuddering. "Blaaaa – eeeww. It still creeps me out." She glanced at him. "We are _never _watching any of those spider movies, mister. You know – _'Arachnophobia' or __'Attack of the Killer Hairy Legged Things' – anything like that, and don't you ever try to sneak one past me."_

His eyes gleamed with amused pleasure. She was the bleedin' Slayer. She'd defeated some of the most ferocious demons to occupy this dimension, and she was 'blaaaa-ing' over a spider. 

"Mom tried to explain to me what Gran meant, but I don't think I ever slept very well in that house." She considered that. "I'm not sure I'd be able to sleep there tonight. But I do understand what Gran meant now. It's kind of how I feel." She looked at him. "And it's nice to remember it so clearly. To remember them – mom and Gran. You know, more than just pictures in the photo album or in a frame on my nightstand. Actual memories."

"Told you. It's comin'. Tonight, when you weren't worryin' about anything, you led the way to a couple of cemeteries we haven't been to yet." His eyes held hers. "All on your own."

"I did?" She looked mildly surprised, and gave that a little thought. "I did, didn't I?" 

His Slayer was pleased.

"Your Watcher is lookin' into it a little. Tryin' to suss out if there's anything that might help clear things up for you a bit."

Buffy flopped onto her back, arms outspread. 

"You cannot know how welcome that would be. Do you have any idea what this is like? Sometimes I'm sitting in the house – my house – sort of watching things going on around me. And my brain is functioning like this: '_That's _Willow___. I can't remember her last name right now, though I imagine I knew it five minutes ago, but we're good friends. She lives here now, and I'm not really sure why. And that's Tara, her girlfriend. They're gay, which is, you know, cool, even if I distinctly remember that it kinda freaked me when I first found out. Pretty soon that other person is going to come over. Xander. What kind of a name is that? And he has a girlfriend, too. Anna, um Anya. This is Sunnydale. I am not really a normal girl. I'm the Slayer. I'm not quite sure what that means, but I kill things. Evil things. And I'm kinda good at it.'" Buffy glanced at Spike. "_Um, sometimes, anyway."__

 "Improving nightly," he assured her.

"Do you know what that's like?"

It was a rhetorical question, and Spike didn't reply, but somewhere inside him, he wondered if it was anything like this: _'I'm a vampire. My every instinct is to hunt, to feed, to kill. Survival. But then I got a chip shoved up my head. If I try to do any of that now, my brain will attempt to fry me. Then, like a complete wanker, I fell in love with the sodding Slayer. Now every single thing I do has to be run through the 'Buffy Approval Process.' Even when she was gone I was using it. And if I'm gonna live according to the BAP, I shouldn't long to hunt. I shouldn't miss killing, feeding. But I damn well do. I'm not a normal vampire anymore, if I ever was. Things change. And I haven't got a bleedin' clue if I can change enough to keep up with them. But I can still kill things. Evil things. And I'm bloody amazing at it.'_

It was a completely different aspect of life, but the necessity of having to think things through in such an unnatural manner seemed somehow similar.

"Your Watcher is a happy man," he said. "Havin' Buffy related research to do again." Spike paused. "He had a hard time of it over the summer."

"I know. He mentioned it," Buffy said, her tone gentling.

"Why didn't you tell him?" he asked. "About heaven? I understand why you didn't the first night he was back. I know you were confused about who he was, but why not since then? You've seen him a few times. Had opportunities."

"I just – I can't."

Spike reached for her arm, tugging on it lightly. Acquiescing, she lay down on her side beside him. He tossed his cigarette away, and shifted onto his side, too, so that they lay facing each other. He pushed a strand of hair off her face.

"'s okay, love. You don't have to explain anything to me."

"It's not that, exactly. It's just… Everything is all – strange."

"Bound to be, innit? A lotta people sing California's praises, but I'm thinking, line it up side by side with heaven, it's bound to come out a bit on the shy side."

Buffy's face softened, and a slight smile curved her mouth.

He allowed his eyes to linger on that little curve. "You ever wanna talk about it, love, I'll listen."

"I'm… I'll think about it," she murmured. "Soon, maybe, I will." She paused. "'Cause I'm afraid I'll lose the memories of it, lose little pieces. And I don't want to forget – not ever." Her voice trailed away to silence. She shifted a little, and he moved an inch closer to her.

"There's something you could do to help you remember, to hold on to things." He hesitated before going on, and her eyes questioned him. "Tell Dawn. Shhh," he hushed her when she opened her mouth to reply. "Just give it some thought. She spent the summer sure that you were in heaven, at peace, back with your mum. You know…" he shrugged a little. "Now Willow has told her you were in hell, suffering all kinds of torment, and that you'd still be there if Willow hadn't 'rescued' you. The bit is pretty upset about the whole thing. An' she's been having a lot of nightmares about it. It's your decision, love, but I hope you'll think about it. And if you do, then she'll be able to help you remember if you still feel like you're losing pieces of it."

"I – you're very protective of her, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah," he admitted, thinking it should be obvious. 

He'd grown a little defensive, and okay, not a little flustered, when Buffy learned he walked Dawn home from work two nights a week.

_"What?" he demanded off her expressionless face. "I walk her home. Could be all manner of beasties between here and the Magic Box. Bit's bound to be safer with the Big Bad at her side."_

_Buffy just looked at him._

_He glared at her. "Let's go kill something," he muttered._

_"Okay."_

_"And no more smart ass comments out of you, missy."_

_"I'll try to control myself," she said._

_"Right then.__ We're off."_

Okay, so it hadn't been one of his finest moments. But she hadn't commented when he'd taken his leave of her later in order to meet up with Dawn. Explaining Friday nights to her – his 'date' night with Dawn – had made him feel even more defensive, so he'd made Dawn do it.

"'sides, she's my girl now. I'd protect her even if I hadn't given you my word."

"I know," she murmured, her voice sincere. "You're strong, and I know I can count on you. I know you'll take care of her."

"Always, love," he renewed his vow again. "'Til the end of the world." 

Buffy rolled onto her back and looked upward, only to gasp.

Spike tensed, and his head shot in the same direction, his body rolling to come up in a crouch. Even though he'd heard nothing, her gasp had him expecting danger. Realizing what she was focused on, the tension left him, and he lay back down beside her.

"Look at that!" she breathed.

The blanket of stars was brilliant, awe-inspiring.

"Dear god, is it always like this? I mean, I live in the night – why haven't I ever noticed this?" Her brow furrowed. "Do you think I forgot it?"

"Doubt it. It's a good display tonight," he told her. "And you wouldn't see anything like this in town."

"It's unbelievable!"

He let his eyes run over her enthralled face. 

"You know you can join the bit and me – we do a lot of stargazing."

"Yeah. Dawn's mentioned it only about a gazillion times. She told me how much she loves it, how interesting you make it all." Buffy turned her head toward him. "That's kind of your special thing with her, though. I wouldn't want to intrude."

He studied her.

"Dawn was right. You are a lot more polite than you used to be."

"Less annoying," she repeated his words from an earlier conversation back to him. "More polite," Buffy mused. "I'm surprised you or anyone else, for that matter, put up with me."

"Oh, I don't know. I can't speak for the others, but there always seemed to be something about you that made me overlook your less pleasant traits."

Buffy's eyes returned to the beautiful night sky.

"Just think of all the other skies, the other worlds out there," she murmured.

His eyes flew to her again. "Slayer?" he questioned, feeling a little shocked.

"Hmmm?" She glanced toward him. "What?"

"I – it's nothing."

"No, what?" she pressed, and he knew his tone had told her it wasn't nothing.

"It's just… I wondered sometimes, if you were out there somewhere, aware on some other plane." His voice caught, and he desperately wished he hadn't mentioned this. He rushed to finish. "My mind used those word – other skies, other worlds…" he told her. "I'd wonder about it, and hope that if you were, you were happy," he finished.

Pain was pulling at him, threatening to bring him down.

Buffy didn't say anything, but he felt her hand close around his and squeeze briefly. It soothed him. 

"Guess you were, weren't you? Happy?"

"Yeah."

"You said it was longer for you – in heaven. Longer than five months."

"Yeah."

"How long was it?"

She shrugged.

He hooked an arm under his head and gazed back up into the sky. "Have to tell you, love, the 148 days felt like 148 years." 

"Did they?" she asked, and a certain quality in her voice caused his head to turn back to her and his eyes to narrow.

"Slayer?"

"Yeah?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over her, slipping a hand into her hair, and tugging her face around to meet his.

"Buffy?"

She lifted her eyes to his. "Yeah?"

"How long was it for you, love?"

"I don't know, really," she replied, her eyes slipping away again.

"Look at me," he urged.

She did.

"How long, Buffy?"

She was silent for several seconds. "A long time," she said at last.

"A year, then? Two, Ten?"

She said nothing.

"Fifty? One hundred?"

Her eyes fell shut momentarily. "I'm not sure. Maybe." Her eyes lifted again to meet his. "Or, ah, maybe a little longer than that."

He absorbed that.

"Or maybe a lot longer than that, is that what you're saying?"

He sounded almost angry, and she withdrew a little.

"Quit looking away," he demanded. He waited until their eyes connected again. "You were there for hundreds of years, weren't you? Hundreds and bloody hundreds of years… Tell me."

"I'm not sure. Time wasn't the same, but…"

"But that's how it felt."

"Yeah."

"Sonofabloodybitch," he said quietly, and then again, "Son. Of. A. Bloody. Bitch." Spike drew her closer, wrapping one arm around her and dropping back onto the ground, pulling her down with him so that she lay draped across him. The hand in her hair tugged her face into his throat. "Son. Of. A. Bloody. Bitch. I damn well don't know what to say, Slayer."

"Because there isn't anything _to_ say," she told him. "Nothing."

She sounded sad beyond imagining again, desolate, a tone he hadn't heard since those first days after her return, and he was left wishing even more fervently that he hadn't brought up the subject of heaven again, hadn't pressed her to share the information. 

Wanker! Stupid, sodding…

His anger with himself reminded him of the fury he'd felt with her friends. It had been dying down as the weeks passed and Buffy improved, but it returned now in force. Did they have any sodding _clue _what was going on? What they'd done? What they'd stolen from her?

His right hand cupped the back of her head, and he moved his fingers soothingly through her hair, while at his side his left hand fisted tightly into the turf, as rage and anger continued to run through him.

Buffy pressed herself closer to him, the arm that had been draped across his chest, sliding down to wrap around his waist. Her legs twined through his familiarly, and he felt that wonderful burst of warmth he'd felt with her before, that morning in his bed. It filled him, heating him from the inside out, drenching him with comfort and peace. The rage eased, and he lifted his hand from the earth and began to stroke her shoulders and back with it, unwittingly leaving little streaks of dirt on her pale sweater. He didn't have any more understanding of the sensation now than he'd had the first time it happened, but he'd bloody well welcome it whenever or wherever it cared to make an appearance. Buffy said nothing, and he didn't know if she'd felt it, too, or not.

"I'd say that clears up any mystery surrounding your memory problems," he said quietly several minutes later. "Your life here was hundreds of years ago. Bound to have some trouble remembering it all, aren't you?"

"Do you think so?" she asked. "I mean, I thought of that a few times, wondered if that was why…"

"Most humans have trouble remembering what they did last week, what they had for lunch, or where they parked their cars, for that matter… And getting jerked around like that… Probably didn't do much to help."

"While you, I'm sure, have total and perfect recall."

"Well, yeah. Superior senses, pet."

"Pffft." Buffy paused, and her voice had gone soft when she continued. Wistful. "I miss it, Spike. It was so beautiful. So peaceful. Like being totally surrounded by love and warmth. Perfect. I can't describe it. It was…"

"Heavenly?"

He could feel her smile against him. "Yeah."

He almost asked her if she wanted to go back, but he restrained himself. He could hear the longing in her voice, and he didn't think he could bear to hear her give voice to that longing. How deep did it go? Deep enough to be viewed as a death wish?

Pain and fear hit him hard. _He **could not lose her again.**_ He couldn't. Not again.

"I was resting," she went on. "You know, getting…" she broke off.

"Getting what?" His voice sounded the same, calm and encouraging. He should think of taking up acting. 

She shrugged, not responding to the question. "And then, suddenly, this horrible, screaming pain, like someone or something was just tearing me to shreds, ripping me apart, ripping me out, and I wasn't ready, wasn't…" Her breathing began to roughen. "And then I was in the coffin. In the ground. Trapped. Trapped, and I couldn't breathe, couldn't see, didn't know what was happening, or…"

She was gasping now, and he could almost feel the remembered horror, pain and fear running under her skin, morphing into panic. 

"Shhh. Don't, love."

His hand slid under her sweater, and began running up and down the smooth flesh of her back, while his right hand continued to massage her scalp soothingly. 

"You're safe. Don't let the panic take you. Just breathe…"

It took some time, but she was successful at battling the panic away without letting it send her into a full scale attack. She was fighting, and his pride in her increased.

Several minutes passed before she spoke, and when she did, her voice was very quiet, hesitant. "Do you think I did something wrong? Do you think they kicked me out?" she asked.

_Where the hell had that idea come from? he wondered._

"You said you were just floating there – enjoying the peace and quiet. Can't see what you could-a done in that state to get yourself kicked out, pet." Spike thought about that. "You didn't get bored, huh?"

She pulled her face out of his throat and looked at him. "Huh?"

"All that layin' about. You didn't get bored? Want a little more action?" He was genuinely perplexed. 

Buffy gave an inelegant snort of laughter, and settled back into his arms. "No. Not bored." She was silent for a minute, but apparently she'd been giving his words some thought. "Funny, though," she said, sounding slightly puzzled. "You'd think there'd be a little more to it. Yeah, it was beautiful beyond words, wonderful. But, um, it was just kinda – me…" He could feel her face scrunching up against his flesh. "Alone. Apart. Even there…" Her voice trailed off.  

"Buffy?"

She pulled back, looking at him. "Wouldn't you think I'd've been hanging out with mom or something?"

"Maybe you were in a holding pattern, love. You know, waiting for St. Peter to take a look at your record or something." He tugged on a strand of hair. "Probably a Herculean task, volumes to be got through, lots of fine print…"

Buffy's laughter was more open this time. She pulled herself out of his arms, and shifted to her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. 

"You sound so – Victorian," she jibed. "St. Peter…"

"Yeah. I'm right prim and proper that way," he said dryly. "My childhood lingering."

She rolled her eyes. "It lingered well. I've noticed the whole lack of maturity thing." She glanced at him. "Many, many, many times."

"Right," he drawled.

Buffy bent her knees and crossed her ankles over each other, swinging her feet casually back and forth. It was one of the bit's favorite positions, and, for the first time ever, Spike thought he saw some resemblance between the sisters. She plucked some long pieces of grass out of the ground and began playing with them, touching them to each other, twisting them together. Dawn did that, too.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Other than that?"

"Funny."

"You know you can, pet."

"It's – why? Why did it happen? I mean, I know Willow did a spell, but Spike,_ I was in **heaven. **_I don't know what I believe, about God and the Power or Powers, whatever – I don't think I've ever been very sure. I know there's good and evil, that they both exist. Tangible, you know? Especially in my world. But no matter what I believe, and no matter what I'm having trouble remembering, I'm gonna have to go with the theory that whoever is in charge in heaven is more powerful than Willow. So why did he/she/it allow it? Why did they let Willow pull me out?"

What the hell could he say to _that?_

"Don't know, love. Lots of things happen I don't understand." Especially, he thought, in the last few years. Since he'd met _her. _

"I must be back for a reason, right? I mean, I felt finished. Relaxed. Resting. The peace was… It's – I think if I don't believe there's a reason, it might just be too –" She broke off and quite obviously changed what she'd been about to say. "Actually, I think it might kind of piss me off."

Which, he thought, might be a damned good attitude for her to take, at least as far as Red was concerned. No need for her to be pissed off at innocent bystanders. Vampires, for example, who'd been tending to their own business, minding little sis while the spell went down, in fact… "Understandable, I'd say."

"And even if Willow thought she was saving me from some hell dimension, from something terrible, he/she/it knew differently, right? Grrraah… I just don't get it!"

She tossed away the braided grass and turned, flopping onto her back again.

"If this is all part of some destiny/fate thingie, with apocalyptic overtones, it had better be good." 

He was surprised by her humor, and she seemed to pick up on that.

"I'm trying to accept it all, adjust, you know? Okay, I haven't been very successful yet," she admitted off his look, "but I'm working on it."

"No, you have. You've come a long way from the first days…"

"A few baby steps, maybe. Dawn has been really great about helping me. The supportive sister. I think she'd feeling all protective. I can see she doesn't understand it all, but she almost – she kind of 'covers' for me sometimes with the others. Like that night we walked home from the cemetery a few, um, I don't know when it was. We patrolled afterward. You and I. A few months ago maybe? Do you remember?"

"Yeah. It was last week, Slayer." He kept his tone careful. He'd noted some trouble with the passage of time, but she hadn't openly spoken of it.

"Oh." She sounded disheartened. "I shouldn't even try to guess. I'm probably never close." She met his eyes, grimacing. "Time? It's, um, kind of a problem. As in the me never knowing how much of it has passed sense. It's… I don't know how long I've been here – back here. I mean I _really_ don't know. No clue. I am clueless. They could make a sequel film starring me."

 "You said time was different in heaven, that it didn't pass the same way. Maybe you're just on heaven time."

"Well, I hope I get over it soon. Add my inability to know if something happened last night or last year in with the whole Can't Remember Diddlysquat issue, and people are gonna start looking at me like I'm completely wacko. And," she broke in as soon as he opened his mouth, "You don't need to tell me that that's a look I've seen on a lot of faces before, because somehow, that's seeming pretty familiar to me."

~*~

Spike was pointing out Betelgeuse and Rigel, trying to help her visualize Orion, and obligingly, Buffy was sighting along the length of his arm. It's so comfortable with him, she thought, so _peaceful. Which she knew was not how she'd ever felt with him in her previous lives. Or, er, life. She hadn't met him until after she'd died the first time. And, oddly, she __had felt comfortably peaceful with Spike a few times in those last months of the, um, life just previous to this one. There had been one time in particular; in the caves with Dawn, _'I'd do it, right person, person I loved', _before she'd run off to do something else – help Willow with something? Help her fight? She frowned momentarily. Why did she seem to have relatively little trouble remembering the past she shared with Dawn and Spike, but the minute another party came into the memory, things fogged up like a bathroom mirror? Rather than growling with frustration, Buffy forced the thought away, and took a deep breath, allowing herself to relax again._

Peace. Warmth. Comfort.

His voice was soft, and Buffy acknowledged again just how beautiful that voice was when he spoke in this quiet tone. It seemed a little strange that she had never noticed it – before. Given their history, though, it was possible he hadn't ever spoken to her in quite this tone. Since she'd come back, things had been different, and she'd heard it often.

_"Don't stop talking. I can breathe when you talk."_

She liked his voice.__

She stopped looking at the beautiful astral display, and turned onto her side, watching his face as he wove tales around the stars. 

He glanced at her, doing a little double-take when he saw that her eyes were on him rather than the sky, and his voiced hitched momentarily before he continued with The Hunter's story. In the next minute, his eyes flickered to her face half a dozen times, and then his voice trailed off, as he copied her motion from minutes before, and rolled toward her to gaze into her face.

"I understand why Dawn enjoys your stories so much," she said quietly, and she knew from the expression on his face that he was pleased by the compliment.

He didn't say so, though, and she didn't comment further. Instead, they lay there, gazing silently at each other in the starlight and moonlight on the side of the road.

This is the most peaceful I've felt since I was brought here, she thought. And it feels damn good.

The night flowed by, and they continued to lay there, letting it touch them. At some point, Spike's hand came up and cupped her neck just under her ear. Her pulse moved strongly under his fingers. He brushed his thumb along her jaw and over her cheekbone.

"Your skin is so warm. And so soft here, like velvet." His voice was hushed, reverent.

Sometimes, they closed their eyes, and they may even have dozed a little.

Some time later, with obvious reluctance, Spike forced himself to his feet, and reached a hand down to her. 

"We have to head back. Sun'll be up before we can get home if we don't leave now."

She took his offered hand, and felt the restrained strength in him as he drew her to her feet. His words had surprised her. "Is it that late?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "But don't worry. Dawn was staying overnight at Janice's, remember?"

"And what is it about that that shouldn't worry me?" Buffy grumbled, breaking the gloriously peaceful mood. Janice was _not_ one of her favorite people. She'd only had to meet her once to realize that. She didn't know if it was a memory or not, but the feeling wasn't in the least fuzzy.

Spike grinned. "Yeah. A bit of a bad egg, I'm afraid, that one," he acknowledged. "She'll be tryin' to lure our girl into all sorts of trouble."

He climbed back on the bike, and Buffy got on behind him.

"You know this, and you're not doing anything about it?" she groused lightly.

"I've given the bit enough warnings. She knows I'm keepin' my eye on that bint."

"I'm sure she's properly terrified," Buffy commented in her best Giles tone. Relaxed, she didn't realize she was mimicking someone she hadn't recognized two days ago.

"Are you implying, Slayer, that I'm not scary enough?"

Buffy couldn't seem to help it. She laughed.

"Let's go, fang boy. I don't know how to drive this thing, and if you go all 'poof', up in flames, I'll be stuck a long way from any town wearing shoes that are definitely not of the walky type."

"Glad the possibility of blisters far outweighs the threat of my imminent demise in your priorities, love."

He glanced over his shoulder, grinning at her. She didn't think she'd ever seen him looking so lighthearted. He moved to start the bike, and she suddenly stopped his motion.

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." She stretched up and kissed the corner of his mouth lightly.

He turned on the bike, just enough so that he could reach her. His hand cupped her neck again, and he pulled her face up to his, kissing her more thoroughly. _Much_ more thoroughly.

His lips were so soft, his hand against her neck so caressing as it slid up into her hair. And his tongue was so – so knowing, so...His mouth lingered, and lingered. Oh, god… Oooh, he knew how to...It was so...

His mouth slid up to her eyes, feathering over them softly before he touched his lips to her forehead. 

"You're welcome," he whispered, releasing her. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, and then he turned back and kick-started the bike.

It seconds they were on the road, racing back toward Sunnydale. Buffy wrapped her arms tightly around his lean waist again, her palms flattened against the tight muscles of his upper abs. From time to time on the long ride back, she turned her head, and laid her cheek against his back.

Peace. Warmth. Comfort.

~*~

_The sense of loss flowed through her._

_She'd lost so many things.  So many… But there was something, **one** of the lost things – oh, so close… Just out of reach. Just there. It was **right there, and she couldn't touch it, couldn't see it, didn't even know what it was… Only that she wanted it, needed it, needed… So close…**_

Buffy's eyes popped open.

Dreaming again, she realized. These dreams of loss disturbed her, unsettled her. The different feelings they left in their wake suggested to her that they involved a variety of losses, each of them deep. Sometimes the dreams were painful, almost physically so. At other times they left her aching with loneliness and sorrow. Still others left her feeling anxious, almost desperate. Like this one.

Certainly, in many of them, she was mourning the loss of heaven. What other losses she dreamt of, she didn't know, and couldn't seem to capture. Unsettled as the dreams left her feeling, she knew she far preferred them to the nightmares of the coffin.

She shifted on the mattress, and let her senses tune in to the room around her, and to the space just outside her house. Yes, he was there, on the roof. Relief poured through her. She hadn't had a nightmare for two nights now. No matter her trouble with the passage of time, she was sure of that much. As it often did, her breathing grew slightly ragged just at the thought of the nightmares, and she concentrated on bringing it back under control.

Think of something else, she told herself, rolling onto her back. Don't dwell on nightmares, and the dreams of things lost. Those things can't be changed. They just have to be – gotten through. Survived. Someday – _someday, she told herself repeatedly – the pain and the fear and the sense of loss would just be memories. That day couldn't come soon enough, in her opinion, but until it did, it didn't do much good to wallow in thoughts of them._

She had to get past this, had to _move on_.

After all, what other choice did she have? She could hardly go around with an agonized expression for months or more, making everyone around her uncomfortable and miserable and worried, could she? What purpose would that serve?

Maybe it was time to start making more of an effort to reconnect with her old friends. Force herself to relax around them, to stop pulling away, drawing into herself. She could take deep breaths, and force herself to _be comfortable… force herself. She could try, couldn't she? That might take her mind off of pain and loss. She knew they'd been good friends. _Really_ good friends. Close. They'd faced terrible dangers together, and that had forged strong bonds between them._

Hadn't it?

She didn't understand why she felt so disconnected from them now – so apart…

_She'dalways been alone. _

No. No. No. Her mind swerved away from that thought. Go back, back… Where were you?

Disconnected… apart… Yes, that line of thought was better, much better.

Was she angry with them? For what they'd done?

Maybe so.

She certainly felt more connected to Dawn and Spike, the ones who hadn't been "_involved." Even Giles, though he'd only been back a, um, short time, was easier…_

Of course, that didn't explain why she'd felt the connection to Dawn and Spike immediately – that first night on the stairs. At that time, she hadn't had any idea what the others had done, so she _couldn't _have been blaming them. She was pretty sure she hadn't even known who the others _were for awhile -- several days, a few weeks, maybe. _

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. Stupid concept; time. Especially when you didn't really seem to have any understanding of it, couldn't keep it straight. Another frustration.

God, it was so much easier to be with Dawn and Spike. Sometimes, she wished the three of them could just take off, get away, be somewhere where she didn't have to pretend, didn't have to worry about running into someone she was supposed to know, where she didn't know where anything was in the town, so wouldn't get so frustrated with herself when it took her fifteen minutes to remember how to get to the dry cleaner's, or something equally lame. Where there was just them, so she could just _be. And know that that would be okay. That that would be __enough._

She didn't think she'd ever felt closer to her sister. Since she'd been brought here, her relationship with Dawn was one of the best things in her life. She only had to look at her to feel a flood of love and protectiveness. Buffy smiled sadly, remembering her promise to their mother that she would love Dawn, even though the girl had come to them in a less than commonplace manner. And she did. It was one of the few things that felt so much easier than it ever had in the past.

And Spike? She liked spending time with him, had felt drawn to him since she'd been – _resurrected. Buffy cringed lightly at the word. It often left her feeling slightly ill._

Spike… 

He relaxed her – his casual manner, his ability to talk to her easily. She even enjoyed the sarcastic little interjections he made when she was talking. He'd always had a lot of talent in the sarcastic and annoying departments, and he certainly hadn't lost any of it. But somehow she didn't seem to find it quite so – _annoying – any more._

Whenever she started to tense up, worrying about her memory problems or, for that manner, her general sanity, he would say something stupid or irksome or snarky or amusing, and it just made it all – _easier_. When he assured her that things would all work out, that she would someday be herself again, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, she _believed him. It was almost as if his reassurances alone were taking some of the weight off her shoulders. _

Which, if she remembered their past correctly, and he'd assured her she seemed to, was totally weird.

When she was alone, she'd been working hard to really concentrate on every image that flashed through her brain, attempting to retain and catalogue it. It was exhausting. Completely and utterly exhausting. Maybe she should take Spike's advice and let it all go – wait for it to happen naturally. God, it was so hard though. She felt restless, anxious to get it all back, because she might need it… 

_Did need it..._

_Needed it…_

She could feel herself starting to tense up again, and she forced the thoughts away. Time for another change of subject, Buffy. 

The motorcycle! Good choice, she thought, feeling the mounting tension begin to retreat.

She'd liked the motorcycle. The motorbike, as Spike had called it. Really liked it. The freedom, the wind and the roar, the release… She'd felt wild and reckless and completely safe, all at the same time. It had been amazing. When he'd pulled into the driveway just before dawn to drop her off, she'd told him again that she was looking forward to the next ride. 

He'd taken her hand in his, and raised it to his mouth, kissing her palm. He'd done that several times since she'd been brought here, and she'd discovered she liked _it_, too. It was old-fashioned, and, um, _nice._

_"Me, too, pet," he'd said. _"Just give me a shout and we're off."__

Buffy was almost asleep again when her brain accessed a memory that had lain dormant since she'd come back, and her eyes shot open again in shock. 

She'd been engaged to him! To Spike! Huh? Dear god, when had that happened? And what had happened to end it? Had they been engaged when she'd… Was that why… ?

Oh! Oh, yeah. It had been a spell. Someone had put a spell on them. She frowned, wondering what the purpose of the spell had been, but nothing came to mind, and she was too sleepy to dig for memories. What. Ever.

The engagement hadn't lasted very long, she remembered now. But it had certainly been long enough for her to find out how well the man could kiss.

Buffy burrowed her head into her pillow, and closed her eyes. 

He hadn't lost any of his talent in that department, either.

And she'd liked that, too. Really liked it.

Buffy drifted back off to sleep, her lips curved into a faint smile.

~*~

He'd heard her awaken, heard the change in her breathing. It sped up for just a moment, but it didn't morph into panic, and he forced himself to stay put, to not even poke his head into her room and make sure she was alright. 

He knew she was laying awake, and for a while he thought she might climb out onto the roof and sit with him. She did that fairly often. They rarely spoke on those occasions. She'd sit beside him, her arms wrapped around her drawn up knees, her face tipped up to the sky, letting the breeze play with her loose hair. She'd stay for fifteen minutes, or an hour, or two – it varied greatly – and then she'd simply say goodnight and climb back into her room.

Tonight, though, she wasn't awake long, only fifteen or twenty minutes, and then she drifted off again. He felt another one of those little thrums of pleasure go through him – pleasure that she was sleeping soundly. 

They'd been out on the motorbike almost all night the night before, and even though she'd nodded off once or twice as they lay alongside the road, he knew it had been a mostly sleepless night, so he was glad she was resting well tonight. He'd hated having to leave the roadside. For the first time since Dru had turned him, he'd regretted being a vampire, or at least the proviso that forced him to seek shelter from the sun. He'd have lain there with her forever.****

The night passed on; quiet and uneventful.

It was almost dawn, and he could still hear the calm even breathing that indicated sleep. No nightmares had disturbed her. It was the first time since she'd come back that she'd been nightmare free two nights in a row. Since she was so often plagued by more than one each night, he considered this a bleedin' milestone.

Motorbike _had_ helped, he thought smugly, puffing up his chest. Knew it would.

He wanted to take her out on the bike again, wanted to feel her body molded tightly to his, wanted to feel her cheek pressed to his back, feel her palms lying flat against his stomach. He wanted to feel those hands slide up, over his chest, to caress… to move lower, too… to cup him, stroke him, bring him o--…

Shock hit him so hard that he almost fell off the roof. 

Bloody, buggering hell!

_He wanted her._

**_He wanted her._**

Sonofabloodybitch! 

What the bleedin' _hell was going on?_

He hadn't…

Hadn't felt…

He hadn't felt – **_passion_ –_ for her. Not once she'd come back. Not one bloody time. None. And he hadn't even fucking realized it… Hadn't known. Hadn't even _thought _of it. _**

_How could that possibly be? _

All he'd wanted to do was protect her, shield her…something. He didn't even know really from what – pain? He'd held her and soothed her and comforted her. He'd comforted_ himself _with her nearness. Sought reassurance that she was real by touching her, by stroking her body and her hair, and warming her with his voice.

He'd wanted that. _Needed it._

_But he hadn't once felt passion._ And that was just – that was just bloody **_wrong_**_. Not to mention downright strange and bleedin' unbelievable. He damn well loved her, and he wanted to shag her into the ground. Had for years. So, why…? It was – he hadn't even _thought _of shagging her since she'd gotten back. It had never _occurred _to him. She'd been back a month, for fuck's sake. _

What the bleedin' _hell was going on? he wondered again._

God, she'd slept in his arms, in his bed, and he hadn't even fantasized about it _then._ He'd joked to himself about the satisfactory pay for waking her from nightmares, but it hadn't been about holding a near naked slayer in his arms, it had been about holding _Buffy, warm and soft. __Alive. He'd lain with her, arms holding her against him, their legs entwined… _

Sonofabloodybitch! He'd even kissed her last night on the motorbike, and even _then_…

What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

And suddenly, as though the thought had given voice to the deed, he was hard for her, hungry for her. His head whipped around and he glared at her window. Had she worked some sodding mojo on him? Something to neuter him? To keep the vamp limp-dicked and harmless? Well, sod that. He was hard now, throbbing, in fact, _filled with fucking __passion. His body tensed as he began to rise. Bitch was gonna be surprised to find him coming to her bed… Covering her, taking her, burying himself in her hot, tight little body…_

_Fuck! Just the thought…                                _

_He wanted her._

Wanted to fell her arms enclose him, hear her voice in his ear, welcoming him, urging him, begging for more, feel her legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper. Oh, so deep. Gonna bury himself so deep…

He could move soundlessly when he chose to. She didn't stir when he slipped into her room. He stepped to the side, letting the moonlight pour in through the window, illuminating her. It silvered her body, turned her golden hair…

_Fuck!_

The light transformed her into the Buffy he'd shared a very memorable night with here in this room – last summer. When she'd been – gone.

A vision. One he sometimes thought had been sent to him to keep him from greeting the sun on her grave the next morning… It had been one of the lowest points of his existence, maybe _the_ lowest, being eaten alive by grief and guilt and rage, and the vision had…

"Hey," Buffy's voice drifted across the room to him. Calm, almost welcoming. "What's up?"

_Me_, he almost replied.

She smiled. "No nightmares," she informed him. "Two nights in a row."

He swallowed.

"Yeah." He ran his eyes over her again, noticing the soft curves under the sheet, the luminous eyes. "It shocked me. Thought I'd better make sure you were still breathing."

"I _am_," she said, with mock pride. "And without the unpleasant gaspingness." She frowned. "Gaspiness? Gasping?" she shrugged. "You know, _normally."_

His chest tightened, and it felt like there was something lodged in his throat.

_He loved her._

**_Loved her._**

_Buffy. Buffy. Buffy._

"Is it almost morning? Are you heading out?"

"Yeah."

"I'll see you later at the Magic Box, then?"

"Yeah."

His lust remained, but it was untainted by anger now, which had been replaced by wonder, and awe.

_Buffy. Buffy. Buffy._

"I'm gonna try to sleep a little more. I'll talk to you tonight."

"Okay."

He forced himself to _not_ move toward the bed, to climb back out onto the roof instead.

"Night, Spike," her drowsy voice followed him.

"Night, love."

He needed to leave. The sun would be up soon. Aside from that, he just needed to be – away – from her. Right now.

Or he would be back in that bed.

He moved to the edge of the roof and jumped off effortlessly, his duster forming wings of darkness around him as he soared to the ground, landing with catlike smoothness. Just for a moment he hesitated, wondering if he should head to his crypt. But then he shrugged, lit a cigarette and moved off in the direction of the Magic Box instead. Why waste time stopping uselessly at the crypt? He might as well just get an early start on his daily workout.

_He loved her._

And he wanted her back. Buffy. His Slayer. The woman and the warrior. He wanted the old slayer, and parts of this new slayer, too, wanted the whole package. The fire and the fury, the grit and the quips, the passion. He wanted the woman who'd stood toe to toe with him with him countless times in the past, and again, that first night they'd patrolled together, and the one who could tease him five minutes later, and who could gaze at the stars with serenity. 

He wanted her back, and he was determined to _have her_, **_as_** a woman and a warrior. To heal her, restore her, help her in any way he could. Whatever was needed. Push her, pull her, drag her kicking and screaming the rest of the way back into this world if he had to.

_"It's so easy with you," she'd told him one night. _"I don't have to pretend anything, I can just – be."_ Well that was all very well, as far as it went, and he knew he could accept that as she healed. But he knew he didn't want her to just _be_, he also wanted her to __be Buffy._

And he was gonna wipe away that death wish, conscious or unconscious, vague implication or rock hard resolution. Make sure that longing to return to heaven didn't translate into anything more, into recklessness of any sort…

He could be a relentless bloke. Obsessive, some would say. Throughout his existence that hard core resolution had been both boon and bane. Only time would tell what the results of his determination would be in this situation.

He loved her. 

And he was gonna get her back. 

His Slayer.

His woman.

His warrior.

Whatever it took. 

However long it might take.

And he was immortal. 

He had all the bleedin' time in the world.

~*~


	6. Awakenings Chapter Six

Journeys by Mary 

~*~

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love. 

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

See notes, etc. preceding chapter one. There's a long author's note at the end of this chapter.

****

**Chapter Six**

Willow was shocked. Truly shocked. How had she not known this?

"Engaged? Really? That's – that's wonderful." 

She had no idea what to say. She hugged Xander, kissed him on the cheek, and gave his new – or at least, newly revealed – fiancée a hug as well. Apparently they had been secretly engaged for quite some time, and had just been waiting for the right moment to share their news.

Like there could _ever_ be a _right moment for this news…_

Anya was showing Dawn her ring for the fourth or fifth time while Xander looked on proudly. Buffy was sitting quietly, _what else was new?,_ on the sofa, near Giles. Tara was in the kitchen preparing some snack food, and Willow felt like she was in the midst of a dream. Or, more accurately, a nightmare. She wondered idly if Spike would come in her bedroom window and comfort _her._

Xander and Anya. Engaged.

_To be **married**.___

_Was he completely insane?_

Oh, this news just tops off a whole week full of wonderfulness, Willow thought sarcastically. One peachy keen event after another…

The endless research over the summer had been time consuming and stressful and Willow had been so sure that Buffy's resurrection would bring an end to that; that with her return, things would be back as they should be. Instead, it seemed that the stress of wondering if she was _about_ to do the right thing had been replaced by worry and stress over whether she _had, and over Buffy's well-being. _

The horrors of hell had obviously traumatized her friend, and Willow felt a horrible guilt that it had taken her too long to get all the necessary ingredients together, to find all the pieces, to gain the knowledge needed to save her. If only she'd been faster, maybe Buffy wouldn't be in so much pain now. As it was, she'd rushed some things more than she should have. Haunted by memories of Angel, she'd done everything she could to get Buffy back quickly.

Sadly, it didn't seem to have been quickly enough.

No, Willow told herself firmly, resolve face making an appearance. Buffy was going to be fine. _Fine. She didn't understand what her friend was going through, but she _was_ going to recover. _She was.__

She'd tried so hard to get Buffy to open up a little, to share her pain with her or with a doctor she'd recommended, but her attempts only seemed to make Buffy withdraw further. She was shutting herself off from all of them. She didn't talk to anyone but Dawn, refused to patrol with anyone but Spike, and most of the hours she spent in the house were spent in isolation in her bedroom. 

Her resolve face wavered. Willow had no idea how to help her, and she hated the feeling of helplessness. 

Buffy's return had _not_ brought things back to how they should be – to how they were before her death. Willow tried to tell herself that even though she'd believed that Buffy's resurrection would return her world to the way it had been, she hadn't believed the change would occur overnight, or that it would miraculously erase all the grief and changes that had taken place over the summer. But somewhere inside, maybe she _had believed that. _

It's only been a month. Only a month. Not long at all, she tried to tell herself. But Buffy remained so withdrawn, so…

_She'd never even said 'thank you'._

Willow had tried to will away the selfish thought a hundred times. But god, it still hurt so much. 

Unfortunately it seemed that half the other relationships in her life were only increasing her stress levels. 

Just before Giles had returned, she and Xander had tried to talk to Spike during one of his endless work-outs in the training room of the Magic Box. She'd only thought that maybe if they could try to recreate a more familiar environment for Buffy, it might be of some help to her. But the meeting had quickly turned into a complete disaster. 

Even though Spike had annoyed her by doing his own thing during fights and patrols over the summer, disrupting the battle plans she'd arrived at with painful and excruciating slowness, he'd never been argumentative. In fact, even once he'd started speaking to them at all after his weeks of silence, he'd remained almost spookily quiet. He'd rarely talked, hadn't argued, and he'd never, _ever, snarked at them as he had so regularly in the past. He _had_ been all cold and threatening after that whole incident with the bot, but other than that – pretty unscary and kinda tame for Spike. So she'd been surprised at his very vocal, oh, so __not reticent, reaction to her and Xander. _

He'd gone over all protective of Buffy and acted almost like he was a better judge of what was good for her than they were. He had actually met their eyes as he grated out that Buffy was having all kinds of problems, and that they were, to paraphrase, _'out of their sodding little Scoobie minds if they thought he was gonna back off one bloody bit if there was anything at all he could do to help his Slayer.'_

Hearing Spike refer to Buffy as 'my Slayer' had, of course, set Xander off, and he'd made some pretty darn firm comments about how Spike was delusional if he thought Buffy would ever be his, and he hoped to hell Spike wasn't planning to start stalking her again. And while they were on the subject of the Summers girls, it might be an idea if Spike detached himself from Dawn a little too. She was a kid, and shouldn't be hanging out with a vampire.

Spike's voice had changed dramatically. The angry grating tone was gone, and instead he sounded coldly dangerous.

_"My relationship with Dawn is none of your bleeding business. It's between her and me, it's **ours, private. And I'm warning you – this time, Harris – to keep your nose as far out of it as you can."**_

While Xander mouthed his usual sarcastic jibes and threats at Spike, Willow, resentful that he seemed to be suggesting that he had some idea what was going on in Buffy's head, when she herself had no clue, had done something she had to admit was a little reckless.

She'd tried to go into Spike's mind. She didn't plan to do anything horrible, just give him the tiniest mental suggestion to back off, the merest nudge really…

She'd been there before, sliding in easily during the final battle with Glory, and during a few fights since then, and she was shocked at the resistance she met on this attempt. Spike had very forcibly pushed her out, verbally telling her to _'stay the bleeding** hell** out of his head'_. He _'already had the chip messin' with him, and he didn't need a witch trying to worm her way in all the time, too.'_

He'd sounded so _angry_. He'd looked angry, too. The glints of yellow in his eyes had had Xander, who, of course, didn't know what she'd attempted, side stepping nervously, and swinging his head in surprise toward his old friend, his own eyes asking for an explanation.

The whole confrontation had been a mistake, and Willow actually felt a sort of weary regret about it now. He'd sounded so fiercely protective of both Buffy and Dawn… Maybe he was actually _helping Buffy, she didn't know. How could she? Buffy never said boo to _her._ They __did patrol together. Buffy had never liked Spike, the words __hated him with a passion came to mind, so Willow couldn't imagine that her friend was actually sharing anything with him, no matter what Spike implied. But Buffy wasn't hiding in her room from him either, which placed him a rung above _her_ on the closeness to the Buffster ladder right now._

At this point, Willow was so desperate to see some sign of her old friend that she'd be willing to try almost anything. Even Spike? She asked herself, and had to answer _'Maybe.'_ She couldn't seem to make up her mind. 

Argue. Whisper. Engage in never-ending debates.

And the niggling annoyance of having Spike around faded into complete unimportance once Giles returned from England.

She'd been anticipating their meeting since the night they'd brought Buffy back; anticipating his thanks and congratulations, anticipating how impressed he would be, how he might even be in awe of her strength and power, her success. She'd envisioned them sitting down and talking about how they would work together in the future, a true Watcherish partnership. Once Buffy was back to normal, there were so many amazing things they might be able to accomplish, and Willow wanted to talk to Giles about all the possibilities.

But his reaction hadn't been anything at all like her imaginings, and the memory of their meeting in his office was burned into her mind.

_"Tell me about this spell you performed."_

_Her eyes lit up with excitement. She'd been planning just how to tell the story, how to relate it to him… "Okay. First of all - so scary. Like the Blair Witch –"_

_"Do stop." Giles interrupted coldly. He swung toward her, anger in every line of his body. "I don't want to hear about your foolishness at Buffy's gravesite. I want to know about the spell itself, the wording, and about the forces you called on."_

_"Foolishness?__ But… I don't understand," she told him, feeling her insides tightening up. "I thought you'd be – impressed, or…"_

_"Oh, don't worry, you've made a deep impression. One I'm quite sure I shall never forget. For some reason, I've always trusted you to respect the forces of nature, and even more, the forces of the supernatural. And now I find myself very much wondering why. Perhaps I foolishly believed that your actions in the past were genuine mistakes, and that you were capable of learning from them. _

_"We've spoken about this, __Willow__. Many, many times. You're a very intelligent young woman, and I simply cannot understand why you seem to be having so much trouble comprehending that magic is extremely dangerous."_

_"But we use it all the time! You seem to think it's fine to use it to fight demons. What makes this different? Why is it not okay to use magic to save my best friend?"_

_"Buffy was dead, __Willow__. Resurrections are the most **un**natural—" he shook his head. "Have you **any** conception what you've done? You've –" _

_"__I saved her," _Willow___ interrupted._

_"Saved her? From what?"_

_"From hell!"___

_"Hell? We have no idea where Buffy was."_

_"The portal opened into a hell dimension!" __Willow__ argued forcibly. _

_"It opened the doors between **all** dimensions," Giles corrected her. "Let them bleed together. You knew that. Those knights made it pretty clear to Buffy that that's what the key was designed to do, that that's what would happen if the key was activated._

_"More to the point, Buffy **died. **She died, __Willow__. We had no evidence that she went into **any** other dimension. There's very little empirical evidence that humans can **survive dimensional leaps."**_

_"But Angel…"_

_"Need I remind you that Angel **isn't** human? And his body seemed to have traveled with him? Two quite notable differences. We buried Buffy. Mourned her. And you never said a single word to indicate you believed that she was anything other than dead." Giles slumped into his desk chair, and removed his glasses, rubbing wearily at his eyes. When he continued, his voice was calmer. "If you had evidence that she was trapped somewhere, why didn't you come to me? We could have examined your evidence, worked together to – "he broke off, shaking his head._

_"I – I would have, but you were in __England__…"_

_"And apparently you believe I left my mind and all my good sense there," he said derisively. The calm tone had dissolved again. "I know this spell was performed right after I left, know you must have spent weeks, if not months, researching it. I also know that Xander, Anya and Tara were working with you. And I'm very aware of what the convenient timing means. If you'd have attempted something this incredibly – stupid – while I was here, I'd have bloody well stopped you! __Please don't begin lying to me as well, or I'm quite certain I shall lose all remaining respect for you." His eyes were like shards of ice cold steel._

_"Do you really have no idea of the lines you've crossed, the risks you've subjected us all to?" _

_"And you don't think the risks were worth it?" __Willow__ asked with a mixture of pain and anger. "You don't think having Buffy back was worth **any** risk, however great?"_

_"How dare you?" Giles hand came down with force on the surface of his desk. "I love that girl like my own daughter, and I feel incredible joy at having her in our lives again. That does **not** mean I think it was advisable to defy every law of nature and every law of anything but the darkest magic to raise her from the grave."_

_ "I did what had to be done."_

_"What had to be done? For what? For whom?"_

_"For all of us.__ For the world."_

_"Or for you?"__ Giles asked. They stared at each other, neither backing down. "You say you brought her back **for the world, yet you risked ****destroying the world in your attempt. You've disrupted nature, disrupted the flow of – of history itself, perhaps."**_

_"I saved my friend, the girl you say you love so much. You should be thanking me."_

_"Have you heard nothing I've said? You were lucky."_

_"I wasn't lucky, I was amazing." _

_Giles stared. "And that statement, more than anything else you've said here tonight, causes my blood to run cold."_

It had been one of the worse moments of her life. She'd always respected Giles, and his attack had just made her grow more and more defensive and angry as the confrontation went on…

_'Your foolishness; stupid; lose all remaining respect; defy every law of nature; disrupted the flow of history; risked the world, blood run cold…'_

He'd gone on. 

He'd wanted to know why Buffy had had to live through the horror of waking in her coffin. She'd tried to explain that they'd thought that the interruption of the spell by the demon bikers and the cracking of the Urn of Osiris, had caused the spell to fail.

_"But surely you **expected **success?"_

_"Of course we did!"_

_"So you had shovels along to dig her out?" he demanded._

_"What?"_

_"You say you expected success. So why didn't you exhume her body before __you performed the spell if you knew her body would be reanimated? That you didn't take that step just points up that you didn't know, didn't take the time to research even that… Or did you just have no idea how the resurrection itself was going to work? Did you think she was going to rise from a fiery hole in the ground, flames licking at her ankles, and pitchforks stabbing at the air around her?"_

He wanted to see all her research materials; the books, the spells, the notes she'd taken and details of how she'd arrived at each and every revision she'd made. He also wanted to know where she'd gotten the books, and the sources of every item and ingredient used. 

_She was shocked by the request. "Why? I just don't understand –"_

_"That much is obvious. You don't understand a lot of things. I had thought…" Giles ran his hand through his hair. "I insist on seeing everything, __Willow__. I expect to have all your notes on my desk sometime tomorrow."_

_She began to back down before his angry tone; his **disgusted tone. ****Disgusted. "It might take me –"**_

_"Please don't. I think I've been subjected to quite enough of your lies and deceptions already." He stood again and turned away as though he could barely stand to look at her. "I've known you for years, don't forget. I'm perfectly aware of your habit of keeping meticulous notes, fully color coded and quite possibly catalogued as well, so don't try to tell me you haven't got what I want. Tomorrow, Willow."_

_"I did that research, slaved over it for months. Why should I –?"_

_"You rank, arrogant, amateur!" Giles whirled back to her. He was clearly furious now, all patience gone. "The types of magics needed to do what you did are more primal and ferocious than you can hope to understand, and you're lucky to be alive. We all are!___

_"Tomorrow, Willow!"_

The encounter had left her feeling so ill and shaken that she couldn't easily define her feelings. Anger? Disappointment? Fear? Rage? Or e)All of the above?

She felt like she'd spent hours after their meeting screaming inside. But to those around her, it looked like she was gathering and organizing her notes on the resurrection; preparing them for Giles as he'd asked. She smiled vaguely at Tara and Dawn when they'd asked if she was okay, offering them meaningless assurances, while she continued to make obsessively neat piles of paper and notebooks on the late Joyce Summers' bed.

Yet, as horrible as that had been, and it ranked right up there in the most devastating moments in the life of Willow Rosenberg, for sheer badness it could not compare to the growing tension between her and Tara. 

She couldn't lose Tara. _She.__ Could. **Not. Lose. **__Tara__._

_You're butting into things that are none of your business. You can't engineer other people's lives. You're using too much magic, and in ways it shouldn't be used._

You're wrong, wrong, wrong.

_You used that forgetting spell on me, made me forget a fight we had. Had could you do that? How could you invade my mind that way? Especially after Glory? I told you how I felt about that – that I thought it was worse than rape. How could you, Will?_

You're wrong, wrong, wrong.

_I think maybe we need a break. I don't know if we can make this work. I'm not sure I trust you anymore._

You're wrong, wrong, wrong.

She couldn't lose Tara.

She was so tired lately. For weeks now, and for the first time in her life, she seemed to be consistently having a lot of trouble sleeping. Even the sleep she did get didn't leave her feeling rested. Sometimes, she felt like she just didn't have the energy to argue things out with Tara in a reasonable manner because she seemed to be arguing with herself half the night, which she hated. 

_Stop fighting with yourself, __Willow__. It's getting out of hand. _

Argue. Whisper. Engage in never-ending debates.

Stop! Stop it!

She couldn't lose Tara. And somehow she had to find a way – the right words, the right actions, and the plain, old-fashioned _energy, to make Tara believe she could still be what the other woman needed; that she would __always be what Tara needed. She loved her so much, couldn't imagine living without her, and she felt desperate to make things right with her. If Tara left…_

How could she ever survive that?

Buffy hiding in her room most of the time, and the fear that she'd been too late, too slow to bring her back, that her slowness had left some permanent scars on her friend's soul; Spike, a lingering annoyance; Giles giving her a 'severe dressing down', his hostility and lack of trust and respect; Tara telling her over and over that almost everything she did was wrong, and her terrible, overwhelming fear that she might lose the wonder of her love.

And now…Xander, her best friend since forever, engaged to that horrible, money hungry, _whatever she was. _

Willow watched as Tara brought some of the food she'd been preparing into the living room. She watched Dawn help her get more, watched Buffy seemingly force herself to stand on the fringes of the group as beers and sodas were distributed in preparation for a toast. Willow smiled and accepted a glass of beer from Xander, raising it into the air along with the others as Giles offered words of congratulations.

The surreal, nightmarish quality of the evening hadn't faded.

It was all getting to be too much. Everyone had seemed to be so cooperative most of the summer, listening to her, taking her advice, helping her to protect them from pain, and now, suddenly, it all seemed to be slipping away. She felt like she was losing control of everything_, of everyone,_ maybe even herself, all at once, and...

And some of them were making such foolish decisions… _Wrong_ decisions. 

There was going to be pain again. Willow forced her face not to crumble. People were going to be hurt. She knew it. The panicky feeling that seemed to have taken up permanent residence inside her lately flared up, and she forced it back, forced her smile to remain in place. They had to let her protect them, take care of them. If they didn't, she just didn't think she could take it. Not again – to stand by and watch people she cared about get hurt, physically, emotionally. 

Last time Buffy had died… 

If only the gang had helped her then to build up her powers, maybe they could have defeated Glory without losing Buffy. And that could have changed everything, could have kept things from getting so out of hand. Even Buffy had acknowledged that she was the only one who'd been able to hurt Glory. She'd been Buffy's best shot…

She could be the best shot for everyone. She _was_ their best shot.

Even if they didn't understand, didn't see it – they needed her. They _did._

_Couldn't they see that? She didn't understand why they couldn't see that. _

~*~

"Do you have time for a game of chess?" Giles asked.

Spike glanced at the clock, and shrugged. "Might," he said agreeably. "The Slayer's meeting me here for patrol. No set time, though."

Giles seated himself on his side of the board. "'No set time' has long been one of her specialties," he informed Spike. "If you haven't yet learned that, you will."

Spike sat as well, lighting the usual fag.

"Cigarette?" The vampire held the open pack out to Giles.

"Dear Lord, no," Giles shuddered, glaring lightly in response to Spike's smirk. He was completely disgusted with himself for the number of cigarettes he'd smoked his first night back, before and during his talk with the vampire. He was quite sure they'd been largely responsible for the strength of the hangover he'd felt upon awakening later that day. After all, it wasn't like he'd consumed an overabundance of alcohol.

Spike dropped the cigarettes onto the table, and quickly launched his opening salvo. 

Giles brow went up. "You had that move planned," he observed.

"Yeah," Spike admitted. "Sitting on our Slayer's roof all night gives me lots of time to contemplate our games, suss out the best ways to kick your arse."

Giles almost told him that he sometimes lay awake doing the same thing, but he restrained himself. "Her workouts are improving," Giles said instead, carefully surveying the board. "Buffy's."

Spike quirked a brow at the unnecessary clarification. "Yeah," he agreed. "She's doing better on patrol, too."

Perhaps because Buffy had frequently managed to avoid training in the past, Giles had been pleasantly surprised by the intensity with which she was working out, the sheer effort she was putting in during the sessions. And she _was improving. Still, he could see that her moves remained somewhat mechanical, lacking spirit and fire and, most importantly, instinct. He could also see that she was frustrated by the ongoing problems. The frustration, though, only seemed to spur her into training harder._

Spike was proving to be a good sparring partner for her. Certainly, Giles thought with some annoyance, better than he himself had ever been. The man does have vampiric strength, Giles excused himself. It only stood to reason… Although Spike never struck Buffy, Giles had been a bit taken aback by his ability to toss her about the way he did during their more intense workouts without the chip firing. Spike casually dismissed his questions on the subject, assuring him that the chip worked on intent, and since he had no intention of hurting his Slayer…

The vampire seemed to have a knack for knowing just how to get the best out of her. He would snark at her, ridicule what he felt was less than her best efforts, but seemed to stop just short of making her genuinely angry or, even, well, hurting her feelings. And when her frustration with herself flared too high, he seemed to know just what to say to soothe her and get her back on track.

_"If you two would stop ganging up on me," she said, her voice tight. "I might be able to get that move right."_

_"You get back to full strength, love, we could both jump you, and not be able to take you."_

_The comment seemed to surprise her. "Really?"_

_"Yeah, you'd make hash of us."_

_"Really?" she asked again. She was clearly intrigued by the prospect. And, to Giles' consternation, since one of the people they were discussing her 'making hash of' was **him, disturbingly pleased. "I was that good, huh?"**_

_"You **are** that good," Spike corrected. "'ve told you, haven't I? – it's all in you. I can feel it. Best I've ever seen. You said you remembered our past, pet. Are you telling me you don't remember kicking my arse up and down the streets of Sunnydale at least half a dozen times?"_

_Her eyes were gleaming. "You should be careful what memories you drag up, fang boy. You're giving me a lot of incentive."_

_Spike snorted with amusement._

_"Let's try that move again. You're almost there."_

Giles had had about a week to observe her now, and he was happy to admit to himself that he could agree with what Spike had told him his first night back. It _was Buffy. The genuine article. He felt sure of that. _

She was often confused, which upset him because he could see how much it upset _her, how frustrating she found it. And she was disturbingly withdrawn. But it was _her_, his beloved girl, and with time, he felt quite certain she would make a complete recovery. _

Once he really felt that, really believed it, the relief was wonderful.

Of course, concerns remained.

The spell…

He hadn't seen any details yet. Willow had given him a few excuses, but had mostly used avoidance as a means of not giving him the information he'd asked for. He'd seen her exactly once since their confrontation, and that had been at the impromptu engagement party for Xander and Anya. He'd hardly felt that to be an appropriate setting for renewing his demands. However, Dawn had mentioned that Willow had spent hours sorting her notes, so he assumed she had some plans to actually deliver them. He tried not to worry about them, about the spell, about possible consequences. Spending time with Buffy had eased the almost sickening fears he'd initially felt, but he knew he wouldn't feel complete ease until he'd been over Willow's notes with a fine toothed comb.

To his great relief, Buffy seemed to grow easier in his presence with each day that passed. And she seemed to be relaxed and at ease with her sister and Spike. In fact, Giles was quite touched by the closeness the sisters displayed. He observed her, this somewhat softer, gentler Buffy, the one that emerged when the two girls were together. Is this the woman she would have become if she hadn't been called? he wondered, somewhat surprised at the thought. By her own admission, she'd been a rather shallow teen before her calling. Cordeliaesque, as she'd described herself. Giles shuddered. But shallow teens did not necessarily grow into shallow adults, thank God. He'd joked with Spike about trying to make sure that she retained some of the politeness she seemed to have acquired, but in truth, he rather liked it – liked her – this version of Buffy, and he hoped that as her memories became more accessible, and her instincts returned, she would always retain some of this nature. Perhaps it could be somehow integrated with the old, he smiled to himself.

Unfortunately, a warm, gentle, woman was probably not the best choice for a Slayer. To be the Slayer, Buffy _must_ regain her edge. She _must_ be able to draw on the unique instincts, the talents and skills she'd been granted when she was chosen. Like Spike, he believed those things were still buried somewhere inside her.

And that, hopefully quite soon, she would be able to draw on them again. Preferably before they were in dire need of them, of _her_. Which, of course, could be at any moment.

Was it selfish of him to hope that when her Slayerness reasserted itself, he would still sometimes see the beautiful warmth in her face that he saw now when she smiled into her sister's eyes?

Buffy's behavior with the others, though, was a completely different story. As soon as they entered whatever room she was in, he could _see her withdrawing, closing in on herself, physically, mentally, emotionally. She would physically move away from them, often drawing closer to Dawn or Spike. Dawn seemed oblivious to this behavior, but Spike, whether conscious of it or not, would move closer to her as well, often inserting himself somewhere in the space between Buffy and the others. It was a rather odd move – one didn't quite get the impression he was about to physically defend her from attack – but the first time he'd observed it, 'guardian' was the word that came to Giles' mind. He'd seen Spike perform a somewhat similar move with Dawn on occasion._

"Good," Giles nodded. "How about Dawn?"

"Dawn doesn't patrol," Spike said dryly.

Giles' mouth curved. "I'm surprised you've been able to restrain her," he commented in a similar vein. "She was quite insistent all summer that as soon as she turned fifteen – the age Buffy was when she was called – she expected to be 'in' on the 'slaying'."

"What can I say? Bribery works well with the bit. Promise her ice cream or something else high on her list, and slaying doesn't look quite so attractive."

"How _is her training progressing?" Giles clarified his original question with more seriousness. "I never stay to watch."_

Spike glanced toward the door that led into the shop, and lowered his voice slightly. "The girl doesn't have a lot in the way of coordination," he admitted. "Bit of a shock, that was. You'd think she'd've inherited some physical talent from her sis. You know, made out of our Slayer's blood, an' all." The blond continued to study the board. "Appreciate it if you kept that to yourself. Dawn's pretty self conscious about it." He finally moved a pawn. "She's got a lot of enthusiasm, though," he added with some satisfaction.

Giles eyed Spike with amusement. He'd just been thinking of it, and he should be well used to it by now, but the vampire's protectiveness of the girl continued to strike him as quite interesting from time to time.

He waited until they were well into the game before he spoke again.

"Do you want to know what I discovered in England?" he asked, keeping his voice casual, and watched Spike's shoulders tense up a little.

"Not really," Spike jibed. "But 'm sure you'll tell me anyway."

"Quite right, I shall," Giles agreed. "Or I would, at any rate, if I had anything to tell."

Spike looked up. "So, I'm not all prophesized about, huh? Not written up in myths and legends?" He snorted. "Could-a told you that. That's Angelus' gig. He's the Prophecy Boy, according to Dru. Big save the world type."

"Oh, I don't know," Giles observed. "Seems to me you've worked on the save the world team once or twice yourself." 

Spike's brows went up, and he quickly ducked his head back to the chessboard. He wasn't quick enough, though. Giles caught the brief flash of surprise, and, perhaps, just perhaps, the tiniest hint of pleasure, in the blond's blue eyes.

"I didn't find much," Giles was forced to admit. "Or, well, anything, to be honest. I did talk to a few of my old contacts – people outside the Council. One of them was quite certain she'd come across those words before. Of course she couldn't remember where, or in what context. She's, um, rather elderly," Giles explained. "But I've no intension of giving up. I'm convinced there's something to this…

"I think I told you when this first came up Watcher, and again when you told me it was one of your reasons for going to England. I'm not interested." Spike's voice was cool, detached.

"There could be a whole new set of possibilities now, with Buffy's return."

"I don't want her to know." The tone had changed completely. Spike's voice was hard now, and Giles' head came up, his eyes narrowing. "It was just some soddin' dream. Didn't mean a thing."

Spike lit another cigarette, and coolly exhaled a cloud of blue smoke into the room. Giles studied him silently. 

Spike's lack of curiosity about his trip the night he'd returned had led Giles to speculate that perhaps Spike really _didn't_ have any interest in the words Buffy had spoken to him in a vision. But this reaction altered that perception. It was quite clear to him now that those words _were important to Spike, and that their meaning was something the vampire was intensely curious about. With his usual coolness, he'd pretended otherwise when the two of them had discussed it previously. In many things, that tended to be Spike's way. The more important, the more _personally_ important, the subject, the more he was likely to listen but not contribute, to shrug, and seemingly dismiss…_

With Spike, one sometimes needed to approach a subject from several different directions in order to ascertain his true feelings.

If he truly thought those words meaningless and unimportant, he wouldn't care if Buffy knew. He might even enjoy having her wonder about the fact that virtually the same words had been spoken to each of them in dreams well more than a year apart. But he _did think they had some meaning. And because he thought that, he didn't want her to know anything about the situation._

He didn't want Buffy wondering about dreams and possible mystical connections. 

_Because he was in love with her.___

If she was ever going to feel anything for him in return, Spike didn't want those feelings mixed up with anything mystical or mythical; no prophecies, no legends, no words spoken in dreams.

"But –" he tried.

"No, Rupert. I don't want any more garbage clutterin' up our Slayer's head. She's got enough to deal with right now – trying to pull herself back together. Don't want her lookin' at me as anything but what I am, either."

"I see," Giles murmured, certain now that his contemplations were spot on. "And what is that, exactly?"

"Just a vampire in love with his Slayer." The words emerged in the same hard tone, but before the last 'R' had died away, Spike had frozen. Giles registered the look of absolute horror on the vampire's face – the shocked disbelief, that, even though the Watcher already knew of his feelings, he had actually uttered those words out loud, and to him.

With an effort, Giles succeeded in hiding both his concern and his smile at the almost comical look on Spike's face. "Quite so," he agreed calmly. "Nothing unusual in that." Not when it's my Slayer, at any rate, he added to himself with some exasperation. 

Spike didn't respond.

~*~

It was time to take some steps, to fix some things, to try to bring one or two things under control.

Buffy was obviously being plagued by terrible pain. If she could erase those memories of hell, Buffy could get past that, and start adjusting to being back in the world. That would ease so many things. Giles would be less worried about the spell and it's possible consequences, and could just enjoy having Buffy back with them, which would make him less insistent on studying every minute, picky little detail of her resurrection. Buffy's full recovery would also ease her own worries about her friend's well being, her own guilt about taking too much time to rescue her, and would probably make it possible for her to sleep better. More sleep would give her more time to relax with Tara and work out their problems. 

And if she could sort of start over with Tara… If she could arrange for them to have, in a way, a clean slate to work with, she knew they could get back to where they were last spring and continue to build from there. They'd both been so happy then, before Glory, and the brain sucking, and Buffy's death. God, she wanted that again. The warmth and happiness, the comfort and excitement of their love. She knew Tara still loved her. Even through all their arguments, she'd never doubted that. They just needed some peace, some time, to rediscover that…

Willow felt a wave of relief just contemplating the changes. She knew it would be for the best. Best for everyone. It would take so much stress and pain away from the people she cared about. Everything would be so much easier. For them, and for her.

And she would feel more in control again. This horrible tension, this unsettled feeling would be gone, and then, maybe she could sleep again, and stop arguing with herself all night.

She'd done everything necessary. Gathered the ingredients, combined them. Altered them just a little to fit her needs.

She struck a match and chanted the needed words.

_"...Tabula Rasa, Tabula Rasa, Tabula Rasa."_

~*~

"How'd the chat with Red go?" Spike asked, anxious to get the subject thoroughly changed.

Wanker! he thought disparagingly of himself. _Just a vampire in love with his Slayer._His words echoed in his head. _Again._ Stupid, sodding…

"Unpleasant and unsettling," Giles replied. "I found her attitude extremely disturbing, I must say."

"Trouble, do you think?" he repeated the Watcher's words from the other night back to him.

"I'm – _concerned_," Giles said carefully. "There seems to be a – a lack of _awareness_ – on her part, of the seriousness of her actions, of the inherent risks involved.

"And I feel a certain responsibility. She reminded me that we've been quite liberal in our use of magic in the fight against demons, and she didn't understand why I argued the wisdom of using it to save Buffy. We _have_ used magic a lot, I will admit. And I was – perhaps I was remiss in my responsibilities to guide Willow properly."

"Wasn't really your job, was it?" Spike dismissed.

Giles leveled him with a hard stare. "Yes, I rather think it was," he insisted. "She was using magic to aid Buffy. She was new to it, a novice. I have a – certain amount of experience – with the dangers of summoning dark forces. I should have been more forceful in instilling in her a respect for the powers she was accessing."

Giles removed his glasses, and cleaned them diligently as he continued.

"I had hoped to work with her on her magical studies more closely this past summer, but we never seemed able to coordinate our schedules. If I had been more resolute…"

"You couldn't coordinate your schedules," Spike said with some sarcasm, "Because she was spending all her time researching the resurrection. And lying to you about it, at least by omission."

Giles paused in his lens polishing and gazed at the vampire. He seemed to come to some decision.

"I should be grateful if you would agree to remain – aware, shall we say? – of Willow's actions as they relate to Buffy and to Dawn. With Buffy being not quite herself…"

"Yet," Spike injected.

"Yet," Giles agreed.

"Did you need to ask?" Spike asked rather flippantly.

Giles met his eyes steadily. "No. I didn't need to ask. I only did so so that you would know I trusted you with their well-being."

Spike stared.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Giles asked after the silence had stretched out for quite some time. His tone hardened. "If you'd rather not be burdened with the responsibility…"

"You know I'd die for them," Spike said softly, with stark honesty. Had he been shocked into saying that? he wondered. There was an odd, unfamiliar heaviness in his chest, and he unconsciously pressed his hand there briefly. "It's just – _trust…_" 

"Builds, doesn't it?" Giles asked, his own voice quiet now.

"I – I don't know," Spike replied. "I've never trusted anyone before. I'm not sure how it works."

It was Giles' turn to stare. "No one?"

"Dawn," Spike amended after a moment. "I trust Dawn."

"I – I shall continue to work with Willow." Giles seemed to be having a little trouble finding words. He pinched the bridge of his nose before replacing his glasses. "To get the details of the spell, and to try to understand what's happening in her head." He paused, and he seemed more collected as he met Spike's eyes. "I hope you'll trust me to handle any direct contact with her."

Spike shifted uncomfortably under Giles steady regard. Trust was – hard. He didn't really care to acknowledge that his hesitancy was quite likely rooted in the fact that, aside from his human family, every person he'd ever placed any trust in had betrayed him. 

_Every last one._

The sodding Scoobies had made an issue in the past about him being untrustworthy. He wondered if they'd ever considered that there wasn't a one of them he trusted either. They seemed to assume that being human made their word more binding, their actions less suspect. He didn't buy it. And, despite their growing – friendship – actually stating trust in the Watcher was bloody unnatural. 

Did he trust the Watcher? Could he?

Spike straightened, his demeanor changing. "Like I said, 've never been big on trust," he said coolly. "Not big in the demon community…" Spike lit a cigarette. "But I'll see what I can do."

No promises.

He knew it was better for the Watcher to handle any direct contact with Willow. The two had a long relationship, and there had always seemed to be a lot of respect between them. That respect might be stretched almost to the breaking point right now, but Spike knew that humans tended to forgive one another more readily than did demons. At least, for the most part.

And it only made sense Giles would be able to get more information out of the bint than he would. Red sure as hell wouldn't be confiding in _him._

He still didn't like the edginess he sometimes felt around Willow, though, or the fact that the redhead made his Slayer 'twitchy'. He knew he wouldn't be able to ignore Willow completely – he was too wary of her. But Giles hadn't asked him to back off. Instead he'd asked him to let him handle any contact with her, while asking Spike to keep an eye on her actions 'as they relate to Buffy and to Dawn'.

Smart bloke.

"You don't suppose she's gone over all demony, do you?" Spike asked, trying to lighten the mood. "I mean, we've already established that the bint hasn't developed an aversion to sunlight, but some demon types can be a lot harder to detect. I could take a jab at her, see if that furthers the research."

Giles rolled his eyes, accepting the change in the tone of their talk. "Thank you for the offer, Spike," he said sarcastically. "I shall keep it in mind."

"What?" Spike asked with mock indignation. "Everyone got over it when I hit Tara." He puffed up. "Put the lady's mind at rest, too, didn't I?"

"Yes, well, you seem to be experiencing some personal hostility toward Willow right now, and I'm afraid that in this particular case, you'd enjoy it far too much."

"Enjoyed it in that case, too," the vampire muttered under his breath. He could have done without the accompanying blinding pain and the lingering headache, but still…

They heard the bell over the door jingle several times, heard familiar voices coming from the direction of the shop.

"Hail, hail, the gang's all here," Spike announced without enthusiasm. He often felt there were far too many people about.

Spike and Giles walked out to the shop to meet the others. 

Dawn shelved another book. Anya handed Giles an invoice with a questioning arch of her brow. Buffy withdrew a little from the group and stood silently to one side. Xander and Willow laughed together while Tara looked on, and Spike gazed at his Slayer, his eyes gleaming.

And then, almost in unison, they all collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

~*~

_"Umad?" the blond in the black leather duster smirked._

_"It was a joke, Rupie." Dawn rolled her eyes in disgust._

_"Rupie… ?" He looked horrified._

_"If we go by people's addresses, we're standing here in __California__. You know, in T.H.E. U.N.I.T.E.D. S.T.A.T.E.S?" she enunciated carefully. "We have two British guys. Chances are you're related. And look at you. All black leather and stupid hair – could you look more like the Rebel Without a Brain? Who cares if you don't have any I.D.? Doesn't matter. He's," a tip of her head indicated Giles, "Obviously your dad. Which makes you Rupert, Jr. Rupie." She folded her arms. "You're probably here to mooch money off him."_

_"Oh, sod off, Umad," he growled. "What would you know? You're just a kid."_

_"Quit picking on her!" Joan ordered._

_"I don't need you to fight my battles for me, __Joan__," Dawn griped, in full-on brat mode. "I'm not afraid of the Big Bad."_

_"That right, pidge? Maybe you should be!" the younger Englishman moved toward her, all threats and swagger._

_"Oooh!__ Look!" Dawn pretended to hide behind her sister. "He's threatening 'the kid'!" _

_"Yes, quite," Giles agreed. "Please stop now, son. It's – embarrassing. It's just not the done thing to bully the weaker sex. They should be protected, cared for, not – taunted. I'm sure I taught you better manners than that." He swept his eyes over his son. "Or more likely banged my head repeatedly against the nearest hard surface attempting to."_

_"Do you suppose the resulting brain damage explains __her__?" his son ragged, eyeing Anya with derision._

_Anya ignored him and cuddled closer to Giles, beaming up at him with approval. "I think that must be one of the reasons I fell in love with you."_

_"What's that, dear?"_

_"Because you're someone who knew I was just an old fashioned girl who wanted to be taken care of."_

_Giles grinned foolishly and touched his tie._

_"My name cannot be Rupert. And if it is, I'm sure I'm called R.J." The blond hadn't yet gotten past this clearly disturbing issue. He turned and glared at Dawn. "For __R_upert, ___J_unior," he explained with sarcasm. "Which isn't a lot better, but anything would be an improvement on Rupert. Probably traumatized me as a lad." He turned to Giles, expression sneering. "Isn't that right, daddy?"__

_"People!__ Strangers to me!" Joan made an attempt to bring the group's attention back to the situation at hand, which included a group of vampires – at least they were pretty sure that's what they were – just outside the shop threatening to slay some girl. If only the creatures could be a little more specific about who they wanted, she thought, it would make it a lot easier to know who needed the most protection. 'Slay her! Slay her!' wasn't really telling them a lot. It was a pretty sure bet, though, that they were all in mega danger!! "We have problems here. Can we please try to focus?"_

_"Oooh, looks like Joan fancies herself in charge…"_

_"You're unbelievably annoying!"_

_"A direct result, I'll wager, from hanging about you lot."_

~*~

_"Oh, I'll go," Rupie, a.k.a. R.J., grumbled. "It's obvious I'm a better brawler than any of the rest of this sorry bunch."_

_"If we run fast enough, and get them to follow us, we won't have to fight, and the others can escape to the hospital," Joan assured him, and patted him on the shoulder. _

_"I can fight if we have to," he assured her quite seriously, setting aside the attitude for a moment.  _

_Joan acknowledged his sincerity with a nod._

_"You'll be careful, won't you?" Dawn asked._

_"I promise. We'll probably get to the hospital before you." Joan squeezed her sister's hand, and stepped away to peer out the window one last time._

_Dawn looked at R.J. "You be careful, too," she added._

_He grinned at her. "Sure thing, pidge. Don't you fret about us. You saw what your sis did to those guys."_

_"Yeah, wicked strong, like she said."_

_Dawn stepped closer to him. She liked him a lot better since he'd rescued her from one of those vampires when they broke into the shop. The nasty, bitey, pointy-toothed thing had been about to sink its fangs into her neck when R.J. had kicked it off of her, and started beating on it. He'd caught sight of Joan, stake in hand, out of the corner of his eye, and tossed the monster toward her. She had neatly shoved the stake through its heart and they'd all watched it explode into a cloud of dust, which had settled on the floor next to the pile from the other one she'd just killed. Joan and R.J. had looked at each other and grinned. They'd made it look so easy – like they'd performed the same moves together a hundred times before. _

_Dawn lowered her voice. "She's so – perky," she muttered. "Like a robot or something. I'm getting the really strong impression that she's a huge pain in the butt to live with. What do you think?"_

_R.J. snickered. "I think you've got her pegged, pet."_

_Dawn looked toward Joan, then back at R.J. Her voice dropped further. "So… You think maybe she's your girlfriend?" she asked curiously, her eyes huge._

_"Oh, yeah," he answered without hesitation. He shifted a little as he looked toward Joan, eyes narrowed, before he fixed his blue gaze back on Dawn. "Not a doubt in my mind," he elaborated cockily._

_Dawn grinned. "I think so, too," she said conspiratorially._

_Joan joined them. She hugged Dawn. "See you at the hospital." _

_Her eyes went to the blond, and she gripped the stake tightly in her hand._

_"Ready, Rupie?"_

_"R.J." he corrected. He looked toward the door, then back at her, and squared his shoulders._

_"Right.__ Ready, R.J?"_

_"Ready, Joan."_

~*~

_Slug, kick, punch.__ Drive in stake. I'm incredibly strong. I fight evil – and with a partner who's a vampire! Who kinda talks a lot, but is definitely a hottie! Those eyes, that wicked mouth, and that amazingly nice, tight body. Which she'd gotten a really good feel for when she'd tackled him to the ground upon discovering he **was** a vampire, and had been straddling while he made his lengthy plea for not being dusted._

_A **really** good feel.___

_Thanks – oooh! – to that **very lengthy plea. **_

_Actually, she wouldn't have minded if he'd kept talking a little longer…_

_It made no different that they couldn't remember their pasts right now. After they'd fought those first two vampires, back in that magic store, they'd looked at each other and grinned, and she knew he realized as she did that they'd fought together far too well for it to be the first time they'd taken on the dark and dangerous forces of evil side by side._

_This is unbelievably cool! _

_And she was feeling really, really, happy that vampires apparently came in both good and evil forms, and that R.J. seemed to be one of the good ones, because she was beginning to think maybe…_

_Joan crashed to the ground as the vampire she was fighting kicked her legs out from under her._

_She rolled swiftly to the side, and was already beginning to come back up to her feet when R.J. drove a stake through the monster's heart and the dust exploded around them. R.J. held out his hand to her, and she'd just laid hers in it, when her head seemed to explode with a sharp blinding pain._

Buffy's memory came crashing back. Her memor_ies._

**_All_**_ her memories.___

Everything that had been elusive, everything that had been fuzzy… 

All back.

~*~

When the bartender asked her what kind of beer she wanted, Buffy frowned. She hated that question. '_Beer beer' always led to the bartender looking at her like she was an a brainless twit, as Giles would say. And the response 'the kind Xander gets for me' brought out an even more 'What can I expect? She's blonde' expression. _

She'd resented that stupid expression for years. Of course, she had to admit that some of the lame explanations she'd come up with from time to time for the bizarre situations she found herself in probably justified it.

Stupid situations.

"Whatever's on tap," she came up with, and felt rather proud of herself for thinking of the phrase. Unfortunately, when he set the glass in front of her, she realized she had no money with her, and tried to send it back. Looking at her frazzled face, the guy finally took pity on her.

"This one's on me," he offered, and she nodded in gratitude, relieved when he walked away.

She hadn't yet touched it, though.

She'd literally been shaking when she'd pushed Spike away and run off. The memories and life details that she'd been struggling so hard to access for the last month had been stabbing into her brain with such ferocity that she felt like her head was going to explode, and even now – an hour or so later – all the emotions a clear memory had conjured up were moving through her so strongly and with such overwhelming force that she was feeling almost terrifyingly nauseous.

So she'd ordered a beer.

Smart move, Buffy.

Maybe that much resented _'you're so blonde' expression was deserved even when there weren't demon remains that needed to be explained away._

She felt him approaching, and she realized somewhere in her whirling thoughts that she'd sensed him some time ago. Had he been watching her from across the room?

He stopped at her side, close, but not touching.

"Point of fact, Slayer?" His voice was low, and calm. Calm_ing. "You want to dull something with alcohol, you have to actually drink it. Hypnotizing yourself in the golden glow doesn't have a proven success rate."_

She turned her head, trying to control the nausea, and looked into his eyes.

Concerned. Worried.

_Caring.___

She jerked her eyes away, looking back into her glass. Oh, god, could she deal with this right now? With him? Could she?

Her fears intensified, and the nausea churned more forcefully. The bartender who'd taken pity on her and given her the free beer would probably be extremely annoyed if she hurled all over the bar… She swallowed once, twice, a third time, and turned back to Spike.

He was gone.

Panic ignited inside her, flaring so high it momentarily, at least, burned away the fear and the swirling stomach as she stared at the place he'd just been. Her eyes darted into the crowd, seeking him, and before she even caught a glimpse of black leather, she was up and moving.

~*~

Something caught at his duster, and he whirled impatiently. Man or man-made, whatever was hindering his progress was going to be introduced to a whole new vocabulary. He knew words that could blister…

_Buffy._

She'd come after him.

Her hands were tugging at him, moving him out of the general flow of traffic. Here, under the stairs. He could hear the broken, mumbled words escaping her, "Don't leave. I need… I need to talk to you, tell you… Something happened and I don't want you to think…"

She leaned back against a post, and, with a hand fisted into his t-shirt, pulled him a little closer. Spike grabbed her wrist, and yanked her hand out of his shirt and held it up and to the side, away from his body. They stared at each other. Her eyes revealed a need to him, and he tried to interpret it. Contact? Comfort? Maybe both, and more...He wasn't sure.

"I'm not ever gonna bleedin'_ leave you, Slayer," he said angrily. "You know that. Or you damned well should."_

_Angry._

He was angry with her. Angry. God, how many times had he been angry with her over the years? Too many to count. He'd been angry with her most of the time he'd known her. But not since she'd come back. Not really. Okay, maybe that first night they'd patrolled, but that had been fear more than anger. And the other night when he'd gone over all barmy for a minute and wondered if she'd put some sort of de-lusting spell on him… Of course she hadn't. It never would have occurred to her in the state she was in. 

But other than that…

After he'd jumped off her roof the other night, it hadn't taken long for him to _know_ that Buffy hadn't had a thing to do with his unsettling lack of lust. By the time he'd reached the Magic Box, he'd known that the absence of physical desire hadn't had anything to do with any sodding spell at all. He'd just been too deeply in shock, too bloody amazed by her presence back in the world to feel much of anything beyond that. His brain had gone on hold, and, once it started functioning again, it had just taken some parts of his body longer to catch up than others. 

Well, his dangly bits had caught up good and proper now, hadn't they? he thought with a mixture of anger at her affect on him and a hefty dose of thoroughly masculine relief. All the equipment was fully functional. Didn't even seem to matter much if his Slayer was nearby, damn her. All he had to do was think of her, something that hadn't been much of a problem for him for years, and all the important bits were throbbing.

Bloody good thing, too.

He stared into her face now, into those huge eyes that were gazing back at him steadily, and tried to read her. What the hell was going on in that fuzzy and, oh, so intriguing, brain of hers? Something odd had happened when Joan and R.J. had remembered Buffy and Spike. He'd known it, could see it in her eyes.

A terrible fear, a horror of some sort…

But when he'd tried to reach out to her, to _be there for her, which seemed to be his bleedin' new _specialty_, she'd shoved him away and run off. Of course, he'd followed her. He wasn't about to leave her out on her own, running scared from something, was he? He'd stationed himself on the balcony of the Bronze and watched her; the awkward beer procurement, the failure to touch the drink, the uncomfortable posture. Even from a distance, he could sense the tension in her, could almost scent her fear. He'd waited, watched, tried to give her time to calm herself._

Patience had long been a problem for him.

And when she'd jerked her head away from him at the bar, rejecting him a second time…

Yeah, angry summed it up pretty well…

Angry. 

_Hard. _

_Bloody hell._

Angry.

_Hungry._

_Sod it all._

Angr—

_Buffy._

Spike buried a hand in her hair, leaned down and kissed her. Nothing tentative, nothing soft and searching. He damn well let her know he was aching for her. Their eyes were open, locked together, searching. Then, as the kiss deepened, both pairs of eyes drifted closed.

She pulled him closer yet, and briefly he felt an almost desperate urgency in her, and in himself, and then it dissipated, along with his growling anger, and gentled, and everything dissolved into an amazing flood of warmth. He'd experienced this with her a few times since she'd come back, bursts of warmth running through him sometimes when he'd held her, warmth that seemed to soothe him, comfort him. But it felt even stronger this time, more intense…

Stronger. Buffy.

Dear god – the _heat, the _warmth _– saturating him from the inside out, drenching him… If he could figure out how to bring this incredible feeling about at will…_

It still felt strange, unnatural, magical maybe. But even the first time it had happened it hadn't made him edgy or angry, which is how he usually reacted if he suspected something not quite natural was happening to him or around him. That was certainly how he'd reacted when Dru had been playing mind games with him. But _this, this…He just wanted more…_

He groaned at the exquisite sensation. "Do you feel that?" he muttered against her cheek.

It flared, burned higher, made them both moan and groan.

"Warm." Oh, yeah, she felt it. "Warm, good. More… Spike, make it…. Oh god."

And then, the warmth seemed to settle, become a part of him, of them, and it seemed natural, real, not in any way unusual. Just – right. 

So bloody right.

_It **all felt right.**_

He didn't understand it at all, but _it all felt right. This, tonight. And more. Her. Him. _Everything_ since she'd come back. _

_"Because this – with you – is wrong. I know it! I'm not a complete idiot!"_ His own words came back to him, along with a mental image of Buffy and Dru chained in the depths of his crypt.

It didn't feel wrong anymore. None of it felt wrong.

The heat had melted his anger away, but the passion remained. God, heached to keep holding her, not only in comfort as he'd done so often since her return, but in passion. To lose himself in her body. He was rock hard, throbbing for her, needing her – so much. One of his hands left her hair and stroked down her back, pulling her closer. She pressed against him willingly, her mouth opening further to his, and he knew… _He knew…_ There was no need to rush, to hurry, to push. She was gonna be his, gonna share herself with him, her body, herself, all of her… _He knew it._

And then there was just_ her – _her_ mouth, __her body, __her hands._

_Buffy. Buffy. Buffy._

He could go on kissing her for days, savoring her taste, the feel of her body close to him. Close, like this – kissing him back, responding to him with the heat and desire he'd always wanted from her. Matching his own. Keep kissing her. Oh, feel her mouth opening under his, taste her, drag his mouth across her cheek, down the side of her neck and around to the hollow at the base of her throat. Explore the tender spot behind her ear, press his lips to her pulse, _alive,__ she's alive, then back, always back, to her mouth. Drawn to it as though it was the source of life. _

Perhaps, for him, it was.

These were long, deep, open mouthed kisses that went on and on, one melting into the next in seamless pleasure. Kisses he'd dreamt of, fantasized about for years. Pull back, let her breathe, and oh god, oh god, breathe her in. Taste her, smell her. Slow and sweet and hot. It was going to his head. And goin' to hers too. He knew it. He could feel her need in the touch of her hands. Hear it in the sounds she was making in her throat. Growing, like his.

Warmth continued to swim and swirl through his body. It swelled in his chest, spread rapidly to his groin, racing through his veins. _She feels so good_. The kiss a few days ago had been bloody wonderful, warm and tender. But this... Not since Red's spell had he really been able to hold her, feel her body moving against his, soft and strong. The strength and power that was so much a part of her sang to him, and he could feel himself sinking deeper, always deeper. He was drowning in her, just like he'd told her once. Drowning. She intoxicated him, made his world spin. 

_God, she **was his world. His whole bleedin' world.**_

And then, oh god, her mouth. Her sweet mouth. Growing hotter, needier. _Buffy._ Push her back, there, under the stairs. Deeper. Into the shadows. Another pillar, back her up. Oh yeah, oh yeah, some leverage. Press up against her. Feel her heat, her body. _Her._ Feel _her._

_Living. Breathing. Buffy._

And, oh god, she's been so bloody confused, and dealing with a lot of …. 

And s_he feels so fucking **good**._

Feels so good, just, just make her feel good, so good. Give her everything, all the pleasure, give her...__

Make her explode. Oh god, make her, gonna make her…

He nudged her harder against the post, leaned into her a little, putting just enough weight on her to make her catch her breath, crave a little more. Just enough to make her arch her back, seeking contact against breasts that had begun to ache to be touched, caressed, sucked. Oh god, he wanted, he wanted to, oh god, the things he wanted to do. To her. 

_For her._

Not everything. Not now, no. Just give her, pleasure her, make her gasp and groan and need and, oh god, gonna give her...

Turn her, shield her body. Use the coat to cloak her. No one could see. Touch her. No. Don't lose control, just give her, give her, make her, gonna make her...

The sounds in her throat had intensified, little mewling cries, gasps of helpless pleasure that were calling to him, telling him where to put his hands, his mouth. Telling him what unintelligible syllables of desire to whisper against her ear, where to touch his lips, his tongue and, oh yeah, when and where she wanted to feel his teeth. 

Slide in. 

There. 

_Right there._

She froze. The wild kissing came to a screeching halt.

Her shocked eyes flew open. Locked on his. Neither one of them moved for several heartbeats. He took a breath. If she was gonna stake him, then so be it.

Spike bent his head back to her and his mouth brushed the curve of her ear. "Go ahead, love." His voice was rough with passion, the low tones making her shiver against him. His words came out on a barely audible huff of air, "Ride me."

She gasped and, to his surprise, color flew into her face.

_But she didn't pull away from him._

His thigh was wedged firmly between hers, pressed up tightly against her. The hard muscles of his leg, combined with the rough fabric of his jeans and that of her own pants were sure to provide more than enough friction. All she had to do was –

His mouth was directly over her ear now. "Ride me." 

And he moved his leg against her.

Buffy didn't seem to know where to look. Her eyes darted up, then down, then closed as she inhaled sharply, and let out a long breath. And then she moved against him.

"Oh, fuck, yesss." The hiss of pleasure was his, and he rewarded every movement of her body against his thigh with his own counter move, increasing her pleasure. In only minutes, _oh, too fast, too fast_, she was clutching at him, at the collar of his coat, at his neck, his hair, tugging at him as the mounting need gripped her. He'd been encouraging her to move at her own pace, but the clutching hands were driving him wild, and his hands went to her hips, gripping them tightly as he began to guide her movements, setting a faster tempo.

"Let go, let go. Let yourself –" His mouth was touching her neck, whispering into the sensitive hollow just under her ear, his husky tone urging her on. "I can feel you, your heat against my leg, so hot, smell you... Come, Buffy. Come for me, come for me, come for me, come..."

Her nails dug into his neck and for a moment he thought she might actually bite him as she released an almost-muffled-to-silence cry against his throat. She was convulsing, long and hard, and he was holding her, holding her against him as she came, and oh, god, life couldn't get any better than this...

~*~

**Author's Notes**

A few notes on the writing process for those who enjoy them (honest, people say they do!), and a couple of personal notes as well…

I am _so_ glad to have this chapter done. Argh! I have discovered that scenes that in any way run fairly close to actual televised scenes are a bugger for me to write.

The Giles/Willow talk was really hard for me to feel happy with. Personally, I found the confrontation between the two of them in Flooded to be so good – so very, very, well written (and 'You rank, arrogant amateur!' was far too wonderful a line to leave out of this story) – that I found it almost impossible to write what was essentially the same scene, knowing I couldn't hope to improve on it in any way. Originally, I was going to _use _the Flooded scene as aired in a sort of flashback form, but because so many reviewers have been anticipating the 'showdown' between Giles and Willow, I felt that would be a huge cheat to not at least _attempt to re-write the scene, making some small parts of it my own. And, _oh yeah, believe me, _I know there are still a **_lot_ of similarities! (Insert mental image of major eye rolling by Mary here.)**_

The Tabula Rasa scene in the store, though brief, was also tough. It was another scene I wasn't going to write. I  had planned to skip from Willow casting the spell straight to Buffy at the bar of the Bronze – but I put the scene in for a couple of (admittedly silly) reasons: 1) I really, _really wanted Buffy to say, "People! Strangers to me!" (from the bot saying "People! Friends of mine!" in Intervention) for no other reason than, um, it's my story, and_ I_ __really, really, **wanted** her to say it, damn it!; and 2) I wanted Buffy and Spike to be able to say "Ready, Randy?" "Ready, Joan.", which is, quite honestly, one of my favorite Buffy/Spike moments from the entire series. As the story progressed, I realized that 'Randy' really didn't fit into my story, and I that I didn't want to waste time (the story is long enough, believe me!), creating a reason in the 'Journeys' world for Spike to be in the Randy clothes. So I either had to simple it up or eliminate it. Hence Joan and 'R.J.' And, even though I didn't use them, I thank NautiBitz, who, I'm pretty sure, isn't even __reading 'Journeys', for the several suggestions she offered on alternate ways I could 'Randy' Spike up. (NautiBitz _always_ knows the very _best_ ways to randy Spike up!!  *Snort* – couldn't resist __that one!)._

The scene between Buffy and Spike in the Bronze was so different in my head from the aired version that it didn't cause nearly the trouble that the other two mentioned did. All it had to contain was Buffy at the bar, Spike approaching her, Spike turning away, Buffy following. The kissing scene at the end of Tabula Rasa was another one of those perfect Buffy/Spike moments the series gave us that I very much wanted to exist in my world, too. This was my way to work it in – and to, um, take it_ juuust_ a little further – _so far as we know_. Hey! We never saw them stop kissing at the end of TR. They could have totally been doing this just like I wrote it! ROTFL.

This chapter is the last one, IMO, that really steals hefty chunks from the show. There are one or two other 'things' – characters or events – that I've nicked, but I feel the circumstances surrounding them, and the way they're used in 'Journeys' are so different, so much a part of 'my' story (at least, they feel that way to _me_), that they didn't give me the same writing problems as the more heavily borrowed scenes/events have done. 

For the most part, 'Awakenings' continues to cause me more problems than all the other parts of 'Journeys' combined. Some days, it just irks me to no end, but, thankfully, I no longer feel like stomping up and down on it. I'm still dying to finish it, though, and put it behind me, and to devote myself to the remaining parts of the story. And, geez, the series continues to grow daily. It's bloody _long._

Updates have been a little slow (but I'm damned well going to point out that the latest chapters are waaay longer than earlier chapters were!). This is due to the ongoing 'Awakening' problems, the amount of re-writing that needed to be done when I made the major plot change in this part of the story, and, to be honest, some lack of time due to the fact that it's gymnastics season. I follow club, high school and college gymnastics by actually attending meets, and I've been spending a lot of evenings in gyms and a lot of weekends out of town. It cuts down on the writing time – _and_ on the time available to answer e-mail. For that last, especially, I apologize. 

In the rush to post Chapter 5 before going out of town (for 3 days for a gymnastics meet), I neglected to mention the phrase 'Don't fash yourself', which I had originally read in a fic by Dark Rhiannon (Rhi). When I couldn't find any information on the phrase on British slang websites, I contacted Steenlou (Lou), who has been kind enough to answer a few British slang questions for me, but the phrase wasn't one that seemed very familiar to her, though she thought it might have originated in Scotland. (I've since found another source that confirms this.) So I went straight to the source and asked Rhi, who told me it was a Victorian phrase and to go ahead and knock myself out using it if I wanted. I do. The phrase just sounds so _Spike_ to me, and I couldn't resist. I'll make every effort not to go overboard with it. The whole exchange concerning the word 'fash' happened months ago, and I'm a little **_'fuzzy'_** (*g*) on the exact details, so I hope I'm not misrepresenting what Lou or Rhi actually said. My thanks to both of them, for their help, and for their continuing feedback on this story, and my credit to Rhi for the Spikey phrase itself.

Writing 'Journeys' has completely taken over my life. (Well, other than that gymnastics thing, and, okay, _yeah, __my kids.) It's become an enormous challenge, a frustration and a joy. Working out the details of the increasingly involved plot consumes me at times, and I'm finding the writing process personally fascinating. **_Quite simply, I'm loving it! _Certainly, 'Journeys' is the most ambitious thing I've ever attempted, and really, the first writing I've done in 25 years, which I imagine I've mentioned before. (Ahem. Repeating oneself – a sign of old age.) My kids still think I'm mostly insane, but they can see it's an insanity I'm enjoying, so they're trying to pretend it's normal for their mom to be writing Buffy/Spike fan fiction… even if it contains that, you know, totally um-mom thing… (((Pssst – S.E.X. Shhh!)))**_

An additional note on a rather difficult subject, and I address it because I've received several pieces of feedback that sort of dance around the subject, and don't seem to know quite how to approach it. I thought my bringing it up here might make it easier for people. Yes, I am a widow, and yes, I do think that my own experiences and those my four children went through when we lost their father in October of 2000 contributed huge honking amounts to the experiences of Spike, Giles and Dawn as they mourned Buffy. And no, I do not find it painful to have my late husband mentioned. I talk about him all the time. I was with him nearly all my life, and I have wonderful memories. If I found it impossible to talk about it, the fact that I'm a widow wouldn't be mentioned in my profiles at First Rabid's site or at FF.net. Almost universally, these notes are from people who have also lost someone. They mention that my descriptions of the pain Spike is experiencing is, in some instances, so close to what they felt during a loss, that they were shocked by the feeling of recognition. I don't know if that recognition is helping them or causing them some pain – they don't really say, and maybe it's a mixture of both. I do know, though, that if seeing feelings similar to their own in Spike or one of the other characters, has helped one person, just one, to feel less isolated or alone while mourning someone they loved; if it has helped them to know that others have gone through something similar; I feel incredibly happy that I didn't hold back, and that I wove some of my own sense of loss into Spike. Knowing that I may have touched someone in this very personal way is incredibly moving to me. 

I was going to end Chapter 6 just before the scene at the bar, and put the kissing scene into Chapter 7, but after the world events of this last week, I thought some Buffy/Spike lovin' was in order. If it took your mind off that dreaded word – war – for even a few seconds, I'm glad. For those of you who have friends and loved ones currently in harm's way, my thoughts and prayers are with you. Because of the much younger (than me) fan base of Buffy, I'm sure many readers have classmates and acquaintances – people their own age – overseas as well, or are concerned about the possibilities of a draft. My youngest son is nineteen and not in college. I understand that concern about a draft, which I internally describe as _terror. Whatever your feelings about the current actions being taken, let us all hope for a rapid end to hostilities, and, once they end, for a lasting peace._

The feedback from everyone reading continues to make my days wonderful. Thank you so much!

Mary

March 23, 2003


	7. Awakenings Chapter Seven

Journeys by Mary 

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love. 

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

****

**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

See notes, etc. preceding Chapter One.

****

**Chapter Seven**

His hands stroked over her, soothing her as little shudders continued to run through her body. Buffy's face was mashed into his chest, and he wondered if she was hiding, and how long she planned to keep doing it. Not that he minded. He could stand here holding her all night. Longer.

"You okay?" he murmured softly against her ear. She nodded into his shirt. "You smell so good, love. Hot, aroused." His tone dropped further. "_Ready._" 

She made a little sound, but still didn't move. The hands that had been digging into his neck moments ago, had moved down his body and found their way around him, under his duster. They were resting against the small of his back now, fisted into the fabric of his t-shirt.

Didn't look like she planned to stake him, then, he decided. At least, not yet.

"You still feel warm – like before?" he asked. He was curious about the sensation. He thought she'd experienced it before tonight, too, but they'd never spoken of it.

"No." She sounded a little sad. "It's gone."

"Could see if we can find it again," he offered, rubbing his chin along the top of her head. Was it really gone? he wondered. He didn't feel the heat anymore, but he'd felt like parts of it had settled into him, become a part of him.

Her face moved against his chest.

"Shhh. Just for a minute? Let me… Ah… Don't talk, just… dance."

Dance? he wondered, before realizing that their bodies were indeed swaying lightly. Must be instinctive on his part, he thought, to keep their bodies moving together. Unless it was instinctive on _her _part. Or something beyond instinctive – something _conscious_. Either of those last two possibilities almost had him groaning out loud. 

_Buffy_.

God, he wanted to take hold of her hips and grind himself against her. Show her what she did to him. Wanted to… Spike's lips twisted. Pretty good chance she knew – their wasn't exactly much distance between them right now. And he could hold off – deny himself. Before the tower, he'd had months of experience controlling his body around her. Bloody hell, _years._

"You think we're dancing?" he asked. It took a bit of an effort to keep his voice light.

She tipped her head back and met his eyes. Her own looked big in her face, and, to his relief, still full of the warmth he'd grown used to seeing in them in the last few weeks. He felt some of the tension leave him. No need to rush, he reminded himself. They had time. 

"That's all we've ever done, isn't it?"

Spike felt a little jolt of surprised pleasure jump through him. Memory, or coincidence? he wondered. 

"Yeah," he whispered back, his hand sliding into her hair. He bent to kiss her, and she raised herself up to meet him. The kiss was hot and slow, a sweet satisfaction. "Mmmm," he murmured his approval, lifting his head. His tongue flicked out to touch his lips, tasting her there. "Yeah."

On the stage, the band shifted into another slow number, one Spike preferred to the last piece, and he began moving more deliberately to the music. Their eyes stayed locked for several long minutes, and for once, he wasn't spending the time attempting to read her thoughts. Instead he was allowing himself to think about how beautiful she was. Trying to suss out what was going on in his Slayer's head occupied a lot of his time, but right now, he didn't feel like probing. He just wanted to enjoy the moment.

Enjoy _her_.

He ran his hands down her back, letting them come to rest on her hips. Bloody beautiful hips. Buffy broke their eye contact, and turned her head to lay her cheek against his chest. She moved against him, with him, an intimate imitation of dancing. _God, she feels so good. _Her hands remained tangled in his t-shirt, but their hold was looser, and her knuckles had begun to rub lightly against his back as they swayed together.

A few numbers, and a very pleasant fifteen minutes or so later, when the music changed into something faster, Spike stopped pretending to dance. One of his hands pushed into her hair, and he bent and kissed her again briefly, before detaching himself from her a little. 

His sussing out instinct had reasserted itself.

"You wanna talk about what happened, Slayer?"

Her eyes went wide, and her mouth actually dropped open a little, causing his to curve.

"I meant Joan, R.J. – whatever the sodding hell made us forget who we were, and whatever it was made you look like you were in the middle of some teen horror flick when we got our memories back." He paused. "Course we can talk about the other if you want," he murmured suggestively, his tongue curling against his teeth. "Talk about it." His eyes slid down her body. "Do it again, see where it might lead…"

His light taunting seemed to bring Buffy back to herself, and she let her hands fall away from him. They'd shuffled onto the dance floor, and when she glanced around, he knew she was looking for a place that would give them a little privacy. He touched her shoulder, inclining his head toward a quiet corner with a couple of available chairs.

"What'd'you think happened?" he asked, following Buffy as she led the way to the indicated spot. Buffy sat gingerly on the edge of her chair, but Spike slouched back into the cushions of his, limbs sprawled as he lit a cigarette.

"Spell." What else? her expression said.

"Those vamps were after you – _'Slayer! Slayer! Come out and play!'_" he mimicked, exhaling a stream of smoke. "Stupid prats! Think they zapped some mojo on us, then tried to slip in during the confusion an' take you out?"

"Maybe. But they seemed to think I knew who I was. You know – calling me 'slayer', expecting me to fight…" She shrugged, her body tightening up a little. "But just in case – we got them all, didn't we?"

His mind rewound what he'd seen outside the Magic Box, reviewed the evening's body count. "I think so."

"If they had some spell, then, we can hope it died with them. I'm really not too up with the idea of every demon in town knowing the magic words to wipe out my memory. 'Cause, I've pretty much had enough of the memory problems lately."

"That you have."

"Whoever cast it, I wondered if it had affected everyone in town – you know, like that spell those floating Gentlemen creeps cast."

He looked the question.

"Sunnydale falls victim to mass laryngitis?" she prompted.

"Oh, yeah." He hadn't been paying much attention to anything going on in the world at that time beyond his own newly neutered state. He didn't remember much about the town's muteness except that it had happened around the time that he'd been exiled from the joys of being chained in the Watcher's cozy bathtub to the even more joyous ghetto of Harris' basement. That, and thinking that even an hour's reprieve from the boy's incessant yammering was probably worth whatever evil the demons had been up to. He was fairly sure he'd been enjoying a good book during most of the brouhaha. 

"The locals," her head indicated the normal young adult activities taking place around them, "Don't seem to be acting any different than usual, so, either denial has risen to new heights in Sunnydale, or – _not_ the whole town." Her eyes glinted at him. "Gosh, Fred! Do you think maybe it just affected the Scoobie gang?"

Spike snorted. "This cannot surprise you, Slayer."

"Yeah, if it's only gonna affect a few, we're the chosen ones. Sometimes, we're, like, spell magnets."

Spike tilted his head slightly to the side, studying her. "You've remembered everything, haven't you? When our memories came back, your fuzzy ones were cleared up, too, weren't they?"

"Yeah," she admitted, exhaling heavily.

"Knew something happened."

He dropped his cigarette to the floor, and sat up, moving to the edge of his own chair. He reached for her hands, holding them much as he had the night she'd been resurrected. Tonight, though, he allowed his thumbs to brush over her knuckles. He leaned toward her.

"You okay, love?"                                                                                                                                            

"I – I don't know." She looked genuinely unsure. "God, I really don't know… It's great to remember my friends more clearly, my past with them. And my mom…" She leaned in closer to him as well, so that their heads were less than a foot apart, their knees touching. She was staring at the floor near their feet. "But I remembered some other things, too. Some not so great things…"

Spike waited, his hands, his thumbs, offering comfort. He could hear the fear in her voice – the fear he'd sensed in her earlier.

"The Slayer stuff… I didn't really get it." She lifted her bent head and looked at him. "The patrolling, the workouts… I thought that's all it was. You know, kind of like a job. A cop or something. Okay," her shoulders moved. "Having a 'Watcher' did clue me in that it wasn't quite that simple. And my mind had flashed the words 'chosen one' at me a few times. But I didn't get that it's not like that at all. Not just a job."

"No," he agreed. "It's not. It's what you _are."_

"When it hit me, it was… a shock, I guess."

~*~

Shock hardly covered it. She'd felt like she's been plunged into some alternate universe, where the world looked the same, but wasn't, not in anyway.

As she'd sat at the bar in the Bronze staring into the untouched glass of beer, she'd spent some time letting memories of her friends and her personal past wash through her. The lost and fuzzy details were there – accessible – and there had been an amazing sense of release in not having to struggle for her friends' names, in being able to remember something as simple as laughing at a television show with her mom. She'd wanted those memories back so badly. She'd spent endless hours trying to drag them up, and, whenever they were momentarily clear, trying to figure out how to keep them from slipping away again.

Well, she had them now, but her priorities and her perspectives had shifted.

Those memories, for now at least, had become secondary things, details that seemed to fade into insignificance next to the overwhelming realities of what her life had been.

_The Slayer._

_The __Chosen__ One._

Responsibility. Choices. Decisions to be made. No easy way out. The necessity to be always, always on top of things.

Duty. 

_Sacred duty._

And she was transported back to the desolation of the last few months of her life; that time before the final battle, the tower, and the decision to jump… It all rushed into her, swamping her – the terrible stress of her mother's illness, and the devastating pain of her loss, the doubts she'd been feeling about her ability to love, the fear of Glory and the fear _for Dawn._

"I didn't mean – I shouldn't have shoved you away like that," she said. "I was just…"

_Terrified._

Buffy's insides tightened up. She couldn't do this. Not yet. She wasn't ready.

Spike's hands gave hers a quick squeeze as he dipped his head closer to hers. "Just what?" he asked, his voice low. "Talk to me, Buffy."

She hesitated. "I – it, it was like the coffin."

"What?" His brow furrowed. "Remembering?"

"No, being the Slayer. Being _me_." She looked up at him. "I was trapped. Before – with Glory. Everything was closing in on me, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I knew I couldn't beat her, couldn't win. And everyone was counting on me, depending on me to save the world. Even if it meant killing my sister. They expected me to do that. To kill Dawn."

The memory was so horrifying, she felt a brief return of her earlier nausea. 

Spike reacted with a low growl. "I remember."

"It was like everything was falling on me – like the dirt and rocks falling in on me, burying me alive. And I couldn't cry out for help, because if I did, the dirt just filled my mouth – more people worrying about me, their concern weighing me down, making it harder for me to fight. 

"It was all smothering me. Until there was nothing left but darkness. And death."

"You came through in the end, Slayer, like you always bloody do. Saved the world. You fought your way out of that coffin."

"And into another one. I died, Spike."

His eyes dropped to the floor, and his hands tightened around hers again, squeezing harder this time. She saw his jaw clench.

"You did what you had to do," he said tightly. "There was nothing more _you could have done. Nothing you could have changed."_

His tone made her frown. 

"But I couldn't… I –" Buffy broke off, interrupted by memories.

_"I do remember what I said. The promise. To protect her. If I'd done that ... even if I didn't make it, you wouldn't've had to jump. … I did save you. Not when it counted, of course. But after that. Every night after that. I'd see it all again, do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways …"_

Where had she heard those words? He'd spoken them to her. Had it been in a dream? No. _No._ In those first foggy days or weeks… Soon after she'd been brought here, brought back. In his crypt, sitting together on the floor, his hand resting on the back of his down bent head, his hair spiked up. And his voice… full of pain and anguish. It had been the day she'd told him she'd been in heaven…

_"If I'd done that…"_

And another night..._"You let – someone – hurt you, torture you, to protect her. And then you promised me you always would. ''Til the end of the world.' Tell me that's how it was."_

_"Yeah. I didn't do it, but yeah…" _His face twisting, the haunted expression…

_"…do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Every night I save you."_

"_There was nothing more **you could have done."**_

_"**You**."_

Oh, god.

He blamed _himself_.

_He blamed himself for her death._

"Spike…"

His head came back up, and he stretched his neck a little, squaring his shoulders. His jaw remained hard.

"You're afraid it will happen again, aren't you? That everything will pile up on you?"

"Spike…" She tried again to take him back to what he'd said.

"You need to learn how to balance everything, Slayer. What and when you can let go. Stop taking the whole bleeding world onto your shoulders."

"Spike…"

"For starters, your little pals can run their own lives. Don't let them muck up yours with their problems."

Buffy studied his face. His eyes stayed on hers, hard, implacable. Closed doors. She didn't think she'd ever seen them so cold and distant, lit not even by the fire of rage. She took in the hard line of his jaw, still tightly clenched. Seeing him like this did something, made something turn inside her. She didn't _like seeing him like this._

She took a breath. "I can try," she told him. "But it isn't that easy. Being the Slayer means I'm the one who's ultimately responsible." 

The taut line of his body relaxed slightly, and the hard grip on her hands eased up. 

"It's like – the buck stops at Buffy." Her eyes glinted. "I'm a buck-stopper."

He closed his eyes and cranked his neck again. Then his thumbs resumed brushing back and forth across her knuckles as he raised his eyelids.

"You _can_ handle it, Slayer," he told her, his voice back to normal. "Seen you do it enough times, haven't I? You come through. And you can damn well learn to delegate. If the Scoobies are gonna be hanin' about all the time, they can pull their bloody weight."

"They do! I mean they did!" she objected with some spirit. "And they will again. As, um, as soon as… Soon." As soon as she felt comfortable with them again, she finished silently. As soon as she _let them._

Buffy hesitated before going on. "But there's something more than that… something I can't quite…

"You told me I was strong; that I could take you. But I thought it must be because I worked out all the time or something. All this martial arts stuff. I didn't get it, didn't know about the powers…"

"Yeah, you're full of power." He ran his eyes over her. "Always liked that about you, pet."

"But I'm not," she insisted. "I mean, I am. I can see that I'm strong. The fighting… yeah, some of it is there. And now that I've remembered more about this whole Slayer thing, it will probably help me more. My technique and the timing you're always harping on." She turned her hands, folding her fingers around his. "But Spike, I don't… The edge – the, the fire, maybe…" She swallowed. "Giles keeps saying that he doesn't think I quite have my edge back yet, and… I –" Her eyes looked into hi, revealing her fear. "I don't _feel_ it, Spike. I'm – I don't think it came back with me."

"Slayer –"

"I told you, remember? That I felt like some parts of me are missing? Maybe Willow's spell didn't quite grab everything and I…"

_"Stop."_

She did, startled by his harsh tone.

He seemed to be trying to bring himself under control. "You're pushing too fast again, Slayer," he began carefully. "Worryin' yourself for no good reason. You've only been back a few weeks. An' you've been dealing with all kinds of things, trying to adjust. Some of your problems got cleared up tonight, and you remembered some others. Doesn't mean you're not gonna overcome them, too. You're worried about getting buried by your duty? Good first step in making sure that doesn't happen is not beatin' yourself about the head like this."

Spike leaned in closer to her, his tone softening and becoming more intimate. 

"Listen to me, love." He bent in nearer yet, running his cheek along hers briefly. "This edge you're talking about -- you want it back, don't you?"

"I _need_ it back."

"No, you don't. 'Cause you _have it." His forehead came to rest against her. "I know you. Oh, god, Buffy, I _know_ you. And everything you need is here." He lifted one of her hands and laid their palms together. His fingers threaded through hers and folded down, gripping her hand tightly. "It's _here_," he repeated, his voice firm, compelling. "I can feel it. __It's in you." _

For a minute they both gazed at their clasped hands, the entwined fingers. 

"Look at me, Buffy."

Her eyes moved to his.

"Maybe it's like your memories – the edge, the fire. Just not as accessible as it should be. Something zaps some type of mojo on us and your memories are jogged loose. They're there for you now. You haven't needed your Slayer edge. Not yet. You need it, it's gonna be there for you too."

He held her eyes, and she knew he was trying to drive the point home.

Unconsciously, Buffy disengaged her hand from his and began toying with the fingers of his other hand. Her fingertips traced the edges of each digit, lifted one, then another, as she considered his words.

"You really think it's in me? That it'll be there for me?"

"Yeah."

"'Cause, you know, based on my past, I'm gonna need it."

"You'll have it, love." He promised.

"I'm gonna need that technique, too. All the kicky stuff."

"And the timing."

"Yeah."

"They'll be there." He paused. "So will I."

His low voice held a promise, and her body tensed slightly. "Spike, I don't know –"

"You know how I feel, Buffy. You know I'm yours."

_Standing on her stairs looking down into his face. **He belongs to me.**_

Her eyes gentled. "I – yeah," she said. Her thumb and forefinger were tracing the hard edges of his index finger, and she looked down at their hands, not focusing. "I don't think I … I don't feel like I can make any – sort of make any decisions… _big, huge, decisions… not right now." God, she was babbling. "I have to figure myself out, and I…" _

"Shhh," he came to her rescue. "Too soon for you, but…"

Her eyes came up to meet his.

His head tilted to the side, and both his expression and his slight smile were warm, soft. "Earlier, under the stairs… Was that my crumb, Slayer?"

A soft sound of amusement left her as she felt the tension slip away.

"Maybe," she acknowledged. "Or maybe a little more. Like, a chunk. A big chunk."

That sentence alone qualified as more than a crumb, and she knew it.

"Felt like a whole slice to me, Slayer." His mouth brushed her ear. "A generous slice," he went on. "With a dollop of cream on top." He drew back just enough to run his eyes down her body, lingering on her lap. "Lovely cream."

Her breath caught, and she went absolutely still. An entirely different kind of tension started humming though her.

"The slice was delicious, but I didn't get a chance to taste the cream."

Oh, god. He had the most amazing voice. So – _intimate. It was hypnotizing her, sending little frissons of pleasure through her body. Buffy's right hand, the one that had been toying with his fingers, had unconsciously curled around his index and middle fingers and was squeezing them tightly._

"And I wanted to. You smelled so good, love." That beautiful voice dropped further. Became husky. Oh, god. "Still do. You're gonna taste good, too. I know it." He brushed his nose softly along her jaw, and stopped, his lips hovering just above hers. His tongue emerged, touching the curve of her lower lip. "Next time, I'm not gonna let that cream go to waste. Not gonna let it go untouched, untasted. I'm gonna take it all in. Savor it. Every. Last. Drop."

He punctuated each word with a flick of his tongue against her lips.

"Oh, god."

He breathed her name. _"Buffy."_

"Can I get either of you something from the bar?"

As well as making her jump, Buffy was pretty sure the intrusion of the waitress's voice kept her from melting into a sloppy Buffy puddle on the floor. Spike's head turned toward the intruder with a sort of slow, menacing deliberation. She imagined that movement had been very effective on other occasions, but the tall brunette didn't look intimidated in the least.

"We're having a moment here," he growled out.

"Sorry." The waitress, obviously anything but, let her eyes run over them. "I thought you had that earlier," she drawled. "Over by the stairs." She smirked at their expressions, and moved off, leaving them staring after her, their mouths slightly agape.

Buffy's eyes dropped to their hands, and grew wide as she realized how she'd been squeezing and, oh god – _pumping _– Spike's fingers. Horrified, she jerked her hands away and pressed them between her knees. She could actually _feel_ the color running into her face. Spike abandoned the killing glare he was directing in the waitress's wake, and whipped his head back to her as soon as she yanked her hands from his. He watched her lame attempt to hide them, and she saw him suck in his cheeks hard. His blue eyes were wicked with amusement. 

Damn him! He was laughing at her! 

Spike pried one of her hands out from between her knees which immediately clamped back down on the remaining hand. He lifted it to his mouth, kissing her palm.

"Only for a moment, then the moment's gone…" 

"Dust in the wind," Buffy continued automatically.

"Is that a threat, Slayer?"

A burst of surprised laughter escaped her. She relaxed her legs, flexed her abused hand, and stood up. "Only if it can be directed at nosy and kinda – what's the word?

"Smart arsed?" he offered.

Buffy nodded. "That'll do – nosy and smart arsed waitresses." She stretched her neck and shoulders. "God, how long have we been here?"

He rose as well. "Hasn't been that long." He squinted toward the clock behind the bar. "Couple hours, maybe?"

She must have spent about half of that staring into her beer. Buffy thought.

"I need to go home," she said. "Check on Dawn and the others." She glanced up at him. "Coming?"

Spike's tongue curled against his teeth and he took one slow step toward her, his hands gliding onto her hips. His lips brushed her ear. "Didn't. But I'm open to any ideas you might have of ways to – rectify that."

She drew back from him. He was so… "I thought the moment was gone," she said loftily. She turned away, glancing back at him over her shoulder as she moved toward the exit.

He followed. "And here I was expecting 'You're such a pig, Spike.'"

"Your mouth has been surprisingly oink-free lately."

"Maybe_ I _can rectify_ that_."

~*~

They were walking along the sidewalk quietly. Even though she knew that he was always alert to what was going on around them, Spike had a way of strolling slowly, exuding calm. Right now, she was envying that. Without the distraction of, er, other things, her earlier fears and confusion had reasserted themselves. Not to the same degree, but… She still felt scrambled, like she was being jerked in several different directions at once.

Now that she'd remembered so many difficult things, she was thinking it might be a really good idea to learn some self relaxation techniques. She'd been battling the panic from the coffin nightmares, and the unsettled sorrow from the dreams of loss, and now this…

_Slayer, comma, The._

How could she have ever forgotten for a moment what that meant? And why, with all the things she'd been struggling to remember, had she not wondered about that? Spike called her 'Slayer' all the time. She was fighting vampires and demons, for god's sake! Why had her brain not tried to understand the deeper meanings of _that? Didn't _that_ seem to be a pretty big deal? Instead she'd just sort of – __ignored it. Work out, patrol, try to do her best, listen to Giles and Spike. Period. Not once had she given any deeper thought to it. It was almost as if – when she wasn't actively engaged in Slayer activities, the 'Slayer' didn't exist._

That wasn't entirely true, she realized suddenly. She _had thought about it a little. The night they'd ridden the motorcycle…_

_A Slayer is destruction. Absolute. Alone. _

That thought had caused her pain, deep pain, and had made her panicky, so she'd pushed it away, refusing to dwell on it.

Had _that_ been the problem? Or part of it? _Had she_, like Gregory Peck, not wanted to remember? Maybe there _had_ been some reluctance in her mind. Something inside her that remembered the fears and pain of the last months of her life, and had strongly shielded that part of her past from her, taking even curiosity away. Maybe her subconscious had been trying to give her an out, if only temporarily.

Did her subconscious think she was ready now? 'Cause she thought she could argue that point _pretty_ forcefully…

Her troubled eyes turned to Spike.

"I don't understand how I could forget all that – what being the Slayer meant. And with all the fogginess that was my memory since I came back, there was no hint of that. None. I was reaching for details – names, places, stuff like that. The whole Slayer thing? Not so much. Or, um, _at all_."

_"And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor pain, for the former things have passed away."_

Her jaw dropped slightly. "Huh?"

"Revelations, love."

"Huh?"

"The bible…"

"You can quote the bible?" _That distracted her._

"It's called an education, pet," he explained. "I had one."

Which really didn't explain why he could quote bits and pieces from it more than one hundred years later. She'd been in school a lot more recently and she could hardly remember…

"Revelations is your hotly debated book of the bible – lots of stuff about the end of days. But most people read that particular verse as a description of heaven," he went on. "The last few months of your life, love? I could see it was takin' a lot out of you. Causing you more pain than you should ever have had to…" he broke off, and took a long drag on his cigarette. "You were in heaven for hundreds of years. Stands to reason, the parts of bein' the Slayer that caused you pain – they'd be wiped away, wouldn't they? '_The former things have passed away…' Taken from you."_

She looked into his face. How does your mind work? she wanted to ask. She'd told him about not remembering the Slayer details less than half an hour ago, and, even with – other stuff – happening, his mind had already turned it over, studied it, and come up with explanations and possible conclusions. All wrapped up with supporting biblical references. It approached boggley. 

"Do you, ah, believe in God?" she asked instead. 

He shrugged, not seeming in the least uncomfortable with the subject. She supposed he'd had time to contemplate lots of subjects over the years. 

"Don't need to believe in God to quote the bible, pet," he told her. "But I figure there's somethin'," he admitted. "Don't quite know what, but some power… Kinda like you said, I guess. Good and evil exist – we know that. Fate, too, maybe. Don't know if the 'good' is God or something else." He studied her in turn. "You'd know more about it than me, love. You were _in heaven." Another pull on his cigarette. "You didn't come across an elderly bloke with white robes and a flowing beard while you were there, huh?"_

"Yeah, be a typical guy and assume God would be male," she said. "But no," she went on over his outraged 'Typical?!' "I didn't come across anyone, remember?" She knew she sounded slightly miffed, and he smiled.

"All that laying about," he jibed. "You probably slept through the bloody welcome wagon. Either that or you were supposed to report for good deed doing duty or somethin' an' didn't get the memo."

She made a face, accepting his attempt to lighten the mood. Her mind was spinning and letting it all go for awhile sounded like a great plan. "Oooh. That would be like that nightmare where you lose your class schedule and then find it at the end of the semester and realize there's a class you haven't been to once, and now you're either going to get a big, fat, red "F" for 'Forgetter', or be forced to take the final exam completely unprepared or something." She paused, taking a deeply needed breath. "Only, in a sort of eternal life type way…"

He snorted. "It's a good thing you're almost home, Slayer. You're obviously sleep deprived."

"Am not," she stated. "I've been sleeping better, for, um, awhile. Definite decrease in nightmares." One per night was fewer than three, wasn't it? And the occasional night without any…

"Didn't get your mental calendar back, huh?"

"I guess not," Buffy shrugged. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes before continuing casually. "I mean, I know the order things happened in. Like, I know my mom scared you off with an axe on Parent's Night before I kicked your ass on Halloween, and that both of those were before you showed up in the middle of the day once just to experience a sun-shiny ass-kicking… Things like that…"

"Oh, you're bloody hilarious, you are."

"Yeah, I know," she nodded seriously. "I've always made it a point to work on the humor."

"Not hard enough."

"Do you suppose I'll get my punning ability back now?"

"One lives in hope."

~*~

They paused at the end of the sidewalk leading up to her house.

Spike watched Buffy stare at the house, saw her taking in the blazing lights. Still, she turned a face full of appeal up to his. "You don't suppose they're all in bed, do you?"

"Sorry, Slayer. I can hear voices. Can't make 'em out, but…" 

Spike's eyes ran over her. He touched her chin, brushed a windblown strand of hair off her cheek. Her huge eyes, shot with wonderful glints of green and golden brown, stayed on his. Enhanced night vision had lots of merits.

"Ready, Joan?" 

Amusement touched those hazel eyes, and the golden lights intensified for a moment. "Ready, Rupie."

He eyed her sternly. "R.J.," he corrected. 

"Right."

Buffy and Spike came in the front door of the Summers house just in time to see Tara dash up the stairs, tears visible on her face. They stared after her, before switching their attention to Dawn, who was leaning against the wall near the door, her arms folded over her stomach, and Willow, who was looking up the stairs, her own face tear stained. Willow turned to the newcomers, her face tight and hurt and angry, before she pivoted and went into the kitchen. They heard the back door open and close.

"Is everyone alright?" Buffy asked her sister. She glanced back up the stairs. "Physically, anyway?"

"_Physically_, I think so." Dawn glanced back and forth between them. "I think Anya and Giles will be spending a couple of days getting over their 'engagement', and apparently Anya was completely terrorized by the hundreds of rabbits that showed up in the Magic Box when she and Giles were trying to do some spells. But otherwise I think they're all okay. Xander took Anya home. He said he had some sedatives, and he was gonna make sure she took some. How about you two?"

Spike looked at Buffy, who seemed to have no idea how to answer that question, and spoke for them. "We're doin' okay, luv. What's wrong with Tara?"

"It's – she's upset with Willow."

Spike's jaw tightened perceptibly, but Buffy looked confused.

"Why? Not because Willow was flirting a little with Xander at the Magic Box, I hope? She can't hold that against her. We were all under some kind of spell."

"No," Spike drew out the word, and his eyes were hard. "'Cause Will's the one who did this, isn't she? Another little attempt to mess with people's minds. Am I right?"  

"Yeah, I guess," Dawn said. "She and Tara had a big fight when we got back here."

"What are you talking about? Mess with people's minds how? What people?"

"She's done it to me a few times. Not always successful, but…"

"How?" Buffy looked shocked and disturbed. "Messed with your mind how? Why?"

"She and I don't always see eye to eye," Spike dismissed. He wasn't about to bother her with the details of any of his little run-ins with Red.

Buffy stepped closer to him, touching his arm. "Spike? What did she do?"

He glanced at her hand on his arm, and into her face, taking in her concerned expression. Concerned. _For him. He stared into her eyes, slightly stunned. "I – later, love." He forced his eyes away from her, and looked back at Dawn. "What, exactly, did Tara think Willow did? Did she say?"_

Dawn's arms tightened around her waist. "She and Tara were arguing. I didn't hear everything." 

Buffy seemed to accept the statement, but Spike just rolled his eyes. "Sure you did, bit. Now spill."

"She did a spell. To, um… I guess she wanted to make Buffy forget about being in hell."

"Oh." Just for a second, Buffy's face expressed her horror and fear, and Spike watched as she struggled to bring herself under control, to hide her reaction from her sister. Too late. 

"Steady, love," he said quietly, laying a hand on Buffy's shoulder. "You have your memories."

Dawn frowned.

Spike's eyes went to the younger girl, studying her. "You got any idea why the spell wasn't just cast on Buffy then?"

Dawn shifted under his steady regard. "Not really. Tara just said something about Willow wanting her to forget, too. Um, _again_. But then they saw me, and they sorta stopped talking." 

"I'm going to see if Willow's out on the porch," Buffy told them. "See if she wants to tell us what this is all about."

"You sure you're okay, luv?" Spike asked as Buffy went into the kitchen. "The others took care of you alright?" She looked stressed out, and disturbed. He knew it upset her when the people she cared about fought. It always reminded her of watching her parents marriage disintegrate around her. 

"We were ducking some vamps in the tunnels, and there was some slayage by Xander , but, yeah, I'm okay." Her expression changed. "Hey! I helped with the staking." A note of pride had crept into her voice.

"Did you now?"

"Well, mostly I just tossed Xander a stake, but still…"

"From humble beginnings…"

Dawn's half hearted smile in response clearly indicated how upset she was. 

His eyes stayed on her until she shifted restlessly. "What?" She shifted again, growing uncomfortable under his eyes. "What?" she demanded.

"Stupid hair?"

Color ran into Dawn's face. "I was all, um, confused," she said lamely.

"That right, Umad? You didn't _sound confused. You __sounded mouthy."_

Dawn bucked up. "Oh, What. Ever. _Rupie__, Jr. Whatever you do to your hair, I'm sure you'll always be the badest vamp in Sunnydale," she informed him in a tone of voice that suggested she'd repeated these particular words far too often._

"That's a given," he agreed.

His eyes didn't stray. Dawn caved.

"Okay, okay, I like the curls! Is that a crime? Geesh!"

"Now, how bleedin' scary would I be with my head all poofed up?"

"There has to be something between 'all poofed up' and helmet hair, Frankie." 

She came closer, and reached up toward his hair. He ducked away. "Hey! Hands off!"

"How about cut short and kinda spikey? That can be punk, right? Look all rebellious and – ooo – scary."

Spike glared. "I've been honing this look for almost a quarter of a century, pidge. Perfected it, too. No need to mess with it now."

"Oh, yeah? Well guess what? It's a new century now, fang boy. You could think about joining the rest of us in it." She looked beyond him. "What'd'you think, Buffy?"

"Uh – uh," Buffy refused. "You two bicker just fine without me getting in the middle." She looked between her sister and the vampire before her eyes inevitably drifted to Spike's hair. "Short and spikey has some possibilities, though."

"Not too short," Dawn elaborated, looking victorious. "No need to go all G.I. Joe or anything."

"Sod off, Umad."

Dawn laughed, and Buffy smiled. 

~*~

Spike was pacing.

It wasn't a straight back and forth movement, but he was roaming the room, restless, obviously unable to stand still, much less sit and talk in his usual easy manner with Dawn. He got kinda – into it – when they were actually fighting baddies, but she didn't know if she'd ever seen him quite like this – this _hyper_. At least since she'd come back. 

He'd wanted to know what Willow had to say for herself, and she'd told him that the other girl hadn't been brooding on the back porch – _like I do, _she added to herself – and didn't appear to be wandering anywhere in the yard, either. Using her eyes, she'd also made it quite clear that they were _not discussing this any further in front of Dawn. He'd inclined his head in agreement._

But she could see the wait was taking a serious toll on him.

Dawn had been watching his odd behavior, frowning slightly, and finally, she looked at Buffy, rolling her eyes.

"I think I'll go to bed," she announced.

_Finally._ Spike might just as well have said it out loud, Buffy thought, with body gestures and much volume. Dawn disappeared up the stairs, and as soon as they heard the shower start up, he rounded on Buffy.

"There is something seriously wrong with that witch."

"I know," she agreed. She'd had a little time to think about this. "Something isn't right. But we don't know what, exactly, and I think Giles and I should sit her down and go over it – "

"Oh, sod that! You need to show her the door, Slayer, Get her as far away from you and the bit as you can."

"I should at least hear her side of the story, don't you think?" she asked, heat building.

"You're gonna let her get away with this, aren't you? Are you out of your soddin' mind?"

Buffy's temper ignited. "Am I supposed to just use the girlfriend equivalent of the 'See evil, slay evil'?" She eyed him angrily. "And, based on your personal history, you might wanna be careful how you answer that."

"That little witch tried to mess with your mind. I don't give a rat's ass what she does to anyone else. She can toy with them as much as she wants, as much as they wanna let her. But I don't want her fucking with me, and I don't want her fucking with you and the bit."

"We don't know for sure –"

"Yeah, Slayer, we do. She wanted to make you forget a part of your life. And she has no right to make that decision for you."

"She thinks I was in hell. I _have to believe she was trying to help me."_

"Then tell her you weren't!" he growled out. "Tell your little friends what they did to you! What they tore you away from."

"What purpose would that serve?" Buffy argued. "It would only hurt them. It can't change what happened. I don't wanna hurt people."

"Grrraah!" he roared. "What is it with you and protecting your friends? You. Are. A. Killer. Slayer. Hurting people is what you do." 

Rage suffused her. "I'm not a killer! That's not what I'm about. I'm about protecting the weak from the strong. It's not the same thing."

Spike's head fell back and the tendons in his neck stood out as he clenched his jaw, his eyes squeezed shut. He was breathing hard.

"I know that," he grated out, after a moment. "I said that wrong. I bloody well know what you're about. You're a white hat, a hero."

His struggle for control gave her a minute to calm down a little, too.

"Spike, listen to me. Willow and I have been friends for years. I know something isn't right. But – we were so close for so long. I at least need to hear her side of the story. I owe her that. Maybe there's something we don't know, some explanation."

"Yeah, maybe." Spike might be calmer, but he clearly wasn't buying into her line of reasoning. "This friend – that would be the one who pulled you out of heaven, right? Bet if you asked she'd tell you she was just trying to fix things – make them better – save you. Rescue you, like she told the bit. 'Cept you didn't really need rescuing, did you? And now she's trying to fix things again by erasing parts of your past. If that doesn't bother you, it bloody well should. She messed up the spell. You got your memory back, we all did, but what if we hadn't? Or what if you'd just lost parts of it? Permanently lost them? Parts of your past? Your memories of your mum? Of Dawn?" 

He let that sink in. "That first night we took out the motorbike, you talked about being worried that you'd lose your memories of heaven. _That's_ the part of your life Willow thought you should forget. What if she thinks your memories of your mum are causing you pain and she should take them from you next? Do you want her to have the power to pick and choose which memories she thinks you should keep? I have memories that mean a lot to me, that I damn well don't want to lose. Ever. And so do you."

"I –" She broke off when she realized there was really nothing she could say. Looked at from that angle, Willow's actions created a whole different feeling in her. Unsettled. Twitchy. What had Willow been thinking? '_I just wanted the pain to stop.'_ That's what her friend had told her, over and over again, during her frequent apologies in the weeks after she'd cast her 'my will be done' spell. Buffy had gotten a little tired of hearing it. Even though Willow had been apologizing at the time, it had often come off like she was justifying her actions. Over the weeks following Buffy's sudden engagement to Spike and Giles' blindness, '_I just wanted the pain to stop'_ had become, '_I just wanted the pain to stop; that's not so bad, is it?'_ Had that been her goal again? To stop the pain? Only this time, to stop _her_ pain? 

_Pain __Willow__ was responsible for._

Quickly Buffy tried to push that last thought away. She couldn't blame Willow. Couldn't blame any of her friends. It wouldn't do any good, and she believed they _had_ been trying to rescue her, to save her. She _had_ to believe that. Anything else was just too difficult.

She _wanted_ to trust Willow. They'd been best friends for years. But Spike was right. The spell had been a mistake, a terrible chance Willow should never have taken, to achieve an end Willow had no business choosing. For her, or for anyone, ever.

"And you don't even know for sure if she was trying to fix things," Spike went on. "That excuse might work for you – she thinks you were in hell. But what about the rest of us? Did she bugger up the spell, or was she trying to affect all of us? And why? I think your precious Scoobie gang better damned well find out."

"What could she want the others to forget?"

"Now, how the bleedin' hell am I supposed to know that, Slayer? Maybe you should ask Tara what she thought Willow wanted her to forget – _again._" Spike suggested. His tone softened. "Don't let her do this, Buffy. Get rid of her. You and the bit would be so much better off without that mob around you."

Buffy felt her anger flaring up again. "That 'mob' and I have been friends for a long time."

"You can hardly stand to be around them! Have you forgotten that?"

"No! I haven't forgotten. I feel all weird enough that I don't feel connected to any of them. Do you have to rub my face in it?"

"Rub your face in –"

Spike broke off, staring into that face. Even though they'd spent most of it, little sparks of anger were still flying between them, and Buffy's breathing was rapid. His face changed and she saw something come into his eyes. Something – _personal_.

"Look at you," he said. The tone of his voice had altered.

"What?"

"All flushed and smart mouthed." His eyes ran down her. "Body all tight, and eyes shooting daggers at me. Givin' me hell."

"Huh?" How did he succeed in distracting her so easily?

"Told you, love," he said with satisfaction. "Everything you need is inside you."

Spike's arm closed around her waist and, with a swift movement, he jerked her off her feet, hauling her against him. His hand sank into the hair at the back of her head and he swooped in and kissed her, hard and fast. She was breathing even more rapidly when he let her go.

"Welcome back, Slayer."

He gave her one of his patented smirks and strolled casually out of the house.

Her mouth fell open. 

"You…" she said into the empty room.

Damn him!

_Get back here_, she wanted to shout after him. _We. Are. Not. Done. Arguing…_

~*~

_"You. Are. A. Killer. Slayer. Hurting people is what you do."_

Brilliant. Bloody. Move. You. Stupid. Wanker. He punctuated each word with a vicious blow to the punching bag. He was surprised she hadn't knocked his teeth down his throat. It might not rank up there with chaining her up and offering to kill Dru to prove his love, but it had it all over beating his practice Buffy about the head with a box of chocolates in frustration.

How. The. Hell. Do. Humans. Control. Their. Tempers?

After swaggering out of Buffy's house, what he'd really wanted to do was find Red and chat her up a bit. But he'd damned well promised the Watcher he'd let him take care of any contact with the bint. Well, he hadn't promised exactly. _"__I'll see what I can do." Still, intent… And he knew the Watcher was counting on him to follow through._

His fists plowed into the heavy sack again, a rapid volley. Seeing Willow right now might not be such a brilliant idea, anyway. 'Cause he was pretty sure it would lead to a headache. So he'd broken into the Magic Box instead. Normally he'd have gone looking for something to kill, but since he had to be back on Revello Drive in less than an hour…

It was hard to even contemplate turning responsibility over to someone else – to not take charge of things on his own. Even when he'd screwed things up, and that had happened far more often than it bloody well should have, especially since he'd come to the Hellmouth, he hadn't regretted his decision not to delegate. Because he knew he was the only one he could count on. 

He'd done it occasionally – turned responsibility for something over to someone else – if the someone else in question was located in the same room with him, and he could keep a very close eye on them. Dalton, for instance, or that vamp that had been helping him with the tunneling needed to unearth the Gem of Amarra. What had his name been? Spike couldn't remember. He shrugged. 

Even Dru – he'd never exactly been able to count on her to come through on specific things. Whether that was due to her fickle nature or her insanity, he didn't know. Still, she'd never disappointed him, never bored him, never made him feel like anything but the luckiest bloke in the world to have her at his side… Until…

Wanker. You. Are. Supposed. To. Be. Working. Off. Your. Frustration. Thinking. About. Dru. Will. Not. Help.

He'd agreed to let the Watcher take the high road with Willow. To find out what was going on in the witch's mind. But letting him take charge, placing _trust in the Watcher went against everything Spike had ever known._

Argh. 

What the hell had that red haired witch been up to? And why?

If he was honest with himself, Spike would have to admit that in the past he'd rather liked Willow. She'd always had a kind of feisty niceness to her that he found more notable than the personalities of Tara or Anya, and less annoying than Harris, or, for that matter, Buffy. 

Of course, no one on the bleedin' earth could be more annoying than Harris. He'd always figured the powers in charge of such things had used the whelp as a sort of Pandora's Box for Vexing Things, and some wanker just couldn't resist opening him, releasing him onto the world.

And Buffy? The Slayer had always irked him, deeply. She had aggravated him, irritated and infuriated him, bothered, beset, and beleaguered him. Spike's mouth curved with affection. Stupid bint aroused him, too, made him hard and hungry, made him ache, made him care, made him feel, made him change…

Once he'd met her, how could he ever have thought for one minute that he'd be able to bring himself to kill such a bloody perfect woman? Had he been out of his sodding mind?

He forced his thoughts back to Willow.

Trust.

There. Was. That. Bleeding. Word. Again.

The Scoobies_ trusted_ Red. She'd been a part of the gang, loved, counted on, respected, ever since his Slayer had come to Sunnydale. Even Buffy, twitchy or not, had made it clear she _wanted to trust her friend, to believe in her, to give her the benefit of every doubt. Spike feared that even if the others talked this out, mouthed the need to use caution with the witch, their every instinct would be to trust her, and that could prove to be dangerous._

And. There. Wasn't. A. Bloody. Thing. He. Could. Do. About. It.

Spike glanced at the clock, and stopped the swing of the punching bag. It was time to head back to Buffy's, take up his vigil on the roof. He swept his duster up off a chair and was pushing his arms into the sleeves when he saw one of Buffy's jackets hanging on a hook near the door. The sweatshirt Dawn wore during their workouts hung next to it. Spike stroked his hand over each of them, smiling as his hand came away with a long strand of Dawn's hair. His girls had beautiful hair, he thought. One dark, one light. He brushed the strand of hair from his hand and watched it fall to the floor of the training room.

Clothes. Hair.

Spike's eyes narrowed.

He could have a protection spell put on them. He knew people. Reliable, white magic types that spurned the dark arts. Trustworthy. He didn't know if Buffy would go for it, but strictly speaking he didn't have to tell her. No need for her to know, was there?

Of course there's a soddin' reason for her to know, you stupid git. 

Soddin' _trust_.

His Slayer was big on it. He figured trust was bound to be an ongoing issue between them. Even though things seemed to be going fairly well in that department right now, it would come up again. After all – Slayer, vampire, past attempts to kill one another. He wasn't gonna bugger things up by having some white witch cast a spell on her without her knowledge, even if it was for her protection. Having one cast on little sis probably wouldn't sit any better with her.

There was no reason he couldn't have one cast on himself, though, was there? Nothing too strong. Just a little something to keep Red out of his mind.

Tonight, he decided. He had experience prowling the rooms of the Summers home while the occupants slept. All he had to do was climb in the bit's window, make a little side trip to Joyce's old room or the bathroom, pick up a couple things. Some of Willow's hair, an item or two of clothing. Spike smirked. He even knew which one of Willow's blouses he would nick. Orangy red number. Fuzzy. Looked like something that might be found on a Muppet. He figured he'd be doing the fashion world a favor making sure it was never seen in public again. If he needed another item, there was that disastrous gold thing with the dangly balls. Red had bleedin' tragic taste in clothes. Odd that, when his slayer was such a stylish bird. You'd-a thought some of that would have rubbed off on the witch. 

He'd told the Watcher he would guard his girls from Willow if he needed to. Keepin' his head clear of her influence could only be a step in the right direction.

~*~


	8. Awakenings Chapter Eight

Journeys by Mary 

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love. 

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

****

**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

****

See notes, etc. preceding chapter one.

****

**Chapter Eight**

"There's something I need to talk to you about, Dawnie."

Dawn shifted nervously under Buffy's gaze.

"Now?" she protested. "I'm kinda tired, what with the whole fighting demons in the sewers and trying to live with the trauma of being named Umad." 

Buffy took a deep breath. "Yeah, now."

"You called me 'Dawnie'. Lots of times that means it's either something really important or something I'm not gonna like. Is it, um, either of those things?"

"It's important, yeah." Buffy looked into her sister's wary eyes. "But not bad important."

Dawn visibly relaxed.

They sat down on Dawn's bed together. After Spike had strolled out, Buffy had taken a few minutes to calm down, and had been waiting for Dawn in the younger girl's bedroom when she got out of the shower. Dawn was still combing out her wet hair, and Buffy ran her eyes over the gleaming strands, over her sister's face, so young, and over her beautiful blue eyes. So like Spike's, she thought inconsequentially.

"It's about when I was, ah, gone…"

Dawn's mouth formed an 'O', but no sound came out. The sisters stared at each other.

"Was it – was it really bad?" Dawn asked at last. Her tone held reluctance and fear.

"It was – no, Dawnie, it wasn't bad."

"Really?"

"Really," Buffy gave a soft smile of remembrance. "I wasn't in hell. Or in any kind of a hell dimension."

"You weren't?" Buffy wasn't sure if she could interpret the look in her sister's eyes. Hope, maybe? Something else?

"No. I – I was in heaven, just like you thought. I don't know why Willow was so sure I wasn't, but I wanted you to know. I was – at least, I _think it was heaven. I was warm, at peace, resting, you know. I felt like I was finished. I didn't have to do it all alone any more. The others keep talking about torture, and suffering, and I just… It's… I wanted you to know." _

She overheard them sometimes, from the next room, or from down the hall. Willow and Xander, mostly, though they were sometimes joined by Anya or Tara. They talked about the hell thing a lot. They were concerned about her. She _knew that. She could hear it in their voices. She thought perhaps they wanted her to acknowledge her pain as a sort of first step toward healing. But she just hadn't been able to talk about it with them. She didn't feel like she could lie about being in hell, thank them for their help, and ease their worries. And she couldn't talk to them about heaven yet either. Not yet. And she didn't know __why. _

She _thought_ it was because she didn't want to cause them pain. They were so sure they'd done something wonderful, and she didn't want to take that away from them. She didn't know if the relief they would feel at knowing she hadn't been suffering hellish torments would make up for knowing what they'd taken her from, and what they'd taken from her. 

Buffy shifted a bit uneasily. She _hoped she wasn't punishing them in some way by withholding the information from them. She __hoped she wasn't the kind of person who would do that. But just the fact that it had occurred to her made her question her motives. _

Every time she thought about sitting down with them and telling them what had really happened, every time she envisioned the encounter, everything inside just coiled into knots, and she was left feeling shaken and ill. She'd thought that her reluctance to discuss the issue with them might be because she was having so much trouble remembering her past with them clearly, that they felt like little more than strangers to her. But her memories were back now, and, at this point at least, that hadn't affected her feelings about telling them at all. 

_That could change at any time, Buffy_, she told herself. Just _relax, let things come. Giles and Spike kept telling her that she hadn't been back long, that she needed to… _

Buffy took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Relax. Don't … Just _relax._ Relax, relax, relax. Think instead about how great it was to be able to remember things – people – events. For her friends to, at least, feel more – familiar – to her. Buffy allowed herself to enjoy the wash of memories. She smiled. They'd been through so much together, faced and overcome everything the Hellmouth had thrown at them. Well, almost everything. And they'd done it by working together. Not always with perfect symmetry but…

_"This is the crack team that foils my every plan? I am **deeply** ashamed."_

Buffy's smile deepened. They might not have been experts, but they'd managed to foil Spike's plans often enough. His, and a lot of the other demony types that had shown up on the Hellmouth with visions of mayhem dancing in their heads.

She could remember now, and it was such a relief to not have to reach for memories of their shared past, but… But more familiar or not, she still didn't feel _right_ about them. Connected. 

Relax, relax, relax.

Grrr. If she could make that growly-roar sound that Spike did so well, she would. _Just give it time, Buffy._ Maybe she could record herself, and Spike and Giles saying that into one of those miniature tape recorders like Felicity used, shove it under her pillow, and play it all night. Really absorb it into her brain, like some form of self-hypnosis.  Things _are coming back. You __will feel like you used to. You __will be able to __feel the friendship and caring inside you again. Just. Give. It. Time._

Dawn sat back against her headboard, and tipped her face up toward the ceiling for a moment.

"I'm – I'm glad. I was scared about it, worried, you know, that hell had sorta freaked you out," she admitted. "Changed you."

"Yeah," Buffy said softly. "I know I've been acting pretty strange since I got back. I think I was kinda in shock or something at first. Maybe I still am a little. And I've been really confused about things, having… having some major memory problems. But, hey! They seem to be clearing up, too. So I'm thinking, soon… Normal Buffy."

"Memory problems?" Dawn asked. "Like not knowing where anything in town is?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "It was the tour, wasn't it? It gave me away."

"Pretty much," Dawn smiled. "Turning around to check out landmarks like dad taught us when he dragged us out on one of those lame, and Could the Ground _Be Any Rockier Under My Back? camping trips."_

"Eeeww." Buffy concurred on the camping memories. 

"The clincher was when you didn't know who Giles was."

"Oh, yeah, that." Buffy met her eyes. "I know it's weird. It's like a whole new chapter of weirdness in the life of Buffy Summers. When I first came back it was pretty, er, bad." She gave a helpless lift of her shoulders, and made a face. "Okay, it was worse than bad. I didn't know where I was, or who all the people around me were. Except you," she quickly assured her. "I knew you. Right away. Well almost right away. On the stairs, just before you and Spike cleaned up my hands. When you grabbed me in that alley and dragged me home through," she frowned, "big building, long halls, gaudy carpeting?"

"The multiplex."

"Oh. Well, I'm still a little confused about that, I have to admit. I didn't have any idea what was going on. But once we got back here, it was kinda like – 'oh, there's Dawn and Spike.'" She frowned. "That was all the same night, right?"

"Yeah," Dawn replied, frowning herself. 

Buffy felt rather pleased with herself, but catching the line between Dawn's brows, she quickly offered more reassurance. "I remember everyone now, really."

"You really didn't know who Willow and Xander were? God, Buffy. I mean, sometimes you looked at everyone kinda weird, and I, um, wondered, but… _god_."

"Well, it wasn't a total eclipse of my brain. It would kind of come and go." Buffy made wave motions with her hand. "Whoosh, memory working, whoosh, memory totally defective. Back and forth. Up and down. Not you see it, now you –"

"Sorta roller-coastery?" Dawn interrupted her lengthening list of descriptions with one of her own.

Buffy considered that. "Maybe," she admitted. "Without, you know, the cool weightless effects."

"Like when your butt goes airborne – I love that!" Dawn enthused.

Buffy smiled. "Me, too." She looked at Dawn out of the corner of her eyes. "You know, I remembered you right away, but some little details from our past seem really clear to me right now. Like when you crossed off 'Buffy' and wrote in 'Dawn' on my autographed photo of Dorothy Hamill and took it to school for show and tell, and when you grabbed my New Kids on the Block video and pulled the tape out so it was garbage, so we 'could' watch 'Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer' instead for, like, the ten millionth time."

"Hey, it was your video from when you were a kid!" Dawn tried to pass her geekiness on to her sister's shoulders.

"I also remembering when you borrowed my brand new red halter top – the one with the little rhinestones around the neck?" she nudged Dawn's memory, "And wore it for a Halloween costume – as a hooker. Not to mention you were, like, ten at the time, and shouldn't've even known what a hooker was."

"Oh great. I get to be Umad _and_ my sister remembers all the times she most wanted to kill me – all in one night!"

"You know what else I remember? I remember when mom lost her job in L.A. and to save money I had to give up figure skating. You baked me double chocolate chip brownies."

"Only slightly scorched," Dawn added proudly.

"And that night just after Angel left Sunnydale? You bought a giant Hershey bar and flowers and gave them to me. So I'm not just remembering the bad things."

"No, you're remembering the chocolatey moments too."

"Yeah." Buffy nodded. "'Cause chocolate and Buffy?"

She looked at Dawn expectantly.

"_Veerrry mixy things," they drawled out in unison. They grinned together at shared memories. _

A comfortable silence descended. 

"What was it like?" Dawn asked at last. "I mean heaven. What was it like?"

Buffy smiled. "Wonderful. Unbelievable."

"Did you get, like, the answers to all your questions about, you know, life, and stuff?" Dawn's eyes lit up briefly. "Was it forty-two?"

"Hmmm?" Buffy's mind was beginning to drift as she let remembered sensations flow through her body. _So wonderful._

"Never mind," Dawn said. 

"It wasn't like that," Buffy murmured. Her eyes took on a certain dreaminess, a vague distance. "I wasn't really – thinking about stuff, I guess. It was just the most amazing peace. I was resting, floating, maybe." "It was like being completely surrounded by warmth and love. Total serenity."

_I can almost touch it. Almost…_

"Buffy? Buffy?" Dawn's voice reached her, faint, and faintly wigged. "Buffy!"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Mmm-hmmm," Buffy nodded, blinking. "Fine."

Buffy lay down next to Dawn. She trailed her fingers across the younger girl's hand, smiling softly. Dawn looked at her hard for a moment before laying down as well. She curled onto her side, and the sisters lay facing one another. Buffy's fingers moved to Dawn's hair, and for a moment she toyed with the damp strands as she studied her face again.

_"She's more than that. More than family... my sister, my daughter..." I love her, mom, and I promise you, I'll take care of her._

"You've been really helpful." Her voice was hushed. "And I want you to know how much I appreciate it. You've kind of taken in all the weirdness that has been me lately, and accepted it, and I wanted to thank you for not freaking out to my face, even though I'm sure it was pretty hard not to." 

"Sometimes," Dawn admitted. "Even right now, you're, um, not acting real Buffyish."

Buffy's face went into thoughtful mode as she considered that. She _felt_ Buffyish.

"I feel like me," she said with certainty. "Like Buffy."

"Is that a lot like 'feeling like a 'Joan''?"

"Very funny."

"You picked that lame-o name, not me!"

"There's nothing wrong with Joan." Actually, she thought the name seemed sorta like a combination of Joyce and Dawn. Maybe. A little.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "But, yeah, I've been worried. You've been all kind of, um, softer or something."

Buffy's eyes lit up. "Oh, I know this part! It's where the conversation somehow turns into a listing of my previous and apparently well known faults."

Dawn raised her brows. "Do you want me to get my notebook with the complete listing? Reading it might take the rest of the night, but…"

"Do you take lessons from Spike, or is this a natural talent?" Buffy asked.

Dawn smirked before forcing her face into a contemplative visage. "Both, I think," she answered, nodding thoughtfully. Then she laughed.

"Giles and Spike have kind of said the same thing – that I seem different. But I feel like me. Mostly. But then I was always with me, wasn't I?"

"Huh?"

"Well, I was gone, away from all of you, and… " her voice trailed off.

Dawn frowned. "What?" she urged.

"I was there a long time, Dawnie. In heaven."

"Longer than five months, you mean?" Dawn stared into her sister's eyes. "But – how? And how long?"

"Time didn't pass the same way it does here. And for me, it felt like I was there for hundreds of years. 

"Wow," Dawn said softly, her voice full of emotions. Shock. Wonder. 

Buffy watched her trying to absorb this new piece of information.

"So, maybe I did change. I don't know. I feel like me, but at the same time, I know I'm not quite how I was before… It's like I'm readjusting, you know? Some things are a little – difficult. Odd things. Like noise. It bothers me, and I find myself trying to avoid it. Spike and I were at the Bronze earlier, and I just kept trying to tune it all out, kept wishing things were just sort of – quiet, you know? Peaceful?"

"Well, if you were surrounded by peace for hundreds of years…" Dawn offered. 

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "And it's kind of painful – physically painful – to feel anger. I've thought about that a lot, 'cause I know that's not how I used to feel at all. I got mad one night on patrol, and it made me feel kind of, you know, gack! Maybe it's just, having been away for so long, never feeling any pain or anger…"

Buffy frowned. "Although… I had a fight with Spike while you were in the shower, and it didn't make me feel sick at all. So maybe I'm readjusting to that, too." 

"You had a fight with Spike?" Dawn asked cautiously, but Buffy could hear the note of fear in her voice.

She made a face. "Oh, no, not that kind of fight," she reassured her. "Just like, an argument, you know. No big. Really." It had actually felt kind of – good. Sparks flying between them, getting kind of riled up…

_"Look at you. All flushed and smart mouthed. Body all tight, and eyes shooting daggers at me. Givin' me hell. Told you, love, everything you need is inside you."_

"Good. 'Cause he's my best friend, and I don't want you two going all fighty/kill each other/mortal enemy with each other again."

"I know. Don't worry. We were just talking some stuff out, really. And Spike was all – you know…" Buffy rolled onto her back and made lots of dramatic arm gestures.

Dawn giggled. "Yeah, he kinda talks with his whole body sometimes, doesn't he? I should have known… The way he was pacing around the living room like he'd overdosed on caffeine or something – he was all anxious to burst out with stuff, wasn't he?" She sighed. "Stuff not for 'kid ears', I suppose," she added with some exasperation. "It's kinda funny watching him sometimes, 'cause he can be so still and quiet, too."

Dawn shifted the conversation back to Buffy. "I was worried about you being in hell, and well…"

"Yeah?" Buffy's eyes encouraged her to go on. 

"The coffin," she said in a rush. "Spike said you dream about it a lot. About waking up there, being buried alive."

"He did?" He shouldn't have told her…

"Yeah, Willow said you were having all these dreams about hell, nightmares, and Spike told me that that's not what your nightmares were about."

"Oh," That explained Spike telling her. "Yeah, I – I do." Buffy didn't want to tell her how horrifying she still found the nightmares. Sheer terror, unreasoning, everything inside her screaming. Couldn't breath, couldn't… "I don't have quite as many as I did at first." Damn it, her voice was shaking. She could hear it. She hoped Dawn couldn't. "And I – I'm hoping they'll stop soon…" her voice petered out. She didn't want to admit how many she still had, how frequently they came. You _don't have as many as you did, she reminded herself. They __will go away. Someday._

Dawn studied her face, and Buffy had to force herself to meet the blue depths of her sister's eyes, as she tried to hide this horror from the younger girl.

"Are you mad at them? At Willow and the others? For bringing you back?"

Buffy sighed. "I really don't know, Dawn. Sometimes I think I am, and sometimes I think I'm not, or that 'mad' isn't quite the right word."

"Is it roller-coastery – like your memories were?"

"Yeah, maybe it is."

"So you're gonna tell them now, huh? And you're telling me first…"

"No!" The single word was strong. "I, um, I don't want them to know."

"Why not? They should know." Dawn seemed surprised that she wouldn't share this information.

"It would crush them, Dawn. They think they did a wonderful thing – that they saved me. If they knew… I just don't want them to be hurt." 

Dawn stared into her face. "But they hurt you, didn't they? A lot?"

"It hurts, yeah." Buffy admitted quietly. She paused. " I know I've been… I'm working on it, I promise. And I do feel like things are getting better." 

Buffy swallowed hard as she felt Dawn's arms close around her.

"I'm sorry it's hard for you, Buffy. But I'm glad you're back," she whispered. "I missed you."

For long, long minutes, the sisters lay wrapped in each other's arms. Buffy stroked her hands comfortingly over Dawn's back, and absorbed a few of her sister's tears into the flesh of her shoulder. Her own eyes burned, but she didn't cry. She thought she might be afraid to start. 

"I think you should tell the others," Dawn said at last, moving away and dashing at her eyes. She sniffed. "Willow's spell last night? If she was really trying to make you forget hell… Even if just that part of it had worked, it would have made you forget heaven instead, wouldn't it? And you wouldn't want to, would you? I mean, I think I'd want to remember heaven. Willow should know. They all should."

"I do want to remember," Buffy said. God, more than anything. "But the others… telling them. Um, not yet. I just… In some ways I feel like I'm just getting to know them again, and, right now, I'm not ready to answer a lot of questions from them. But I think you and Spike are right, that I should tell them. Just, let me do it in my own time, okay?"

"Spike knows?" Dawn looked surprised. Buffy studied her, concerned. But she didn't look angry or hurt that she hadn't been told first – just surprised.

"Yeah. I'm not really sure why I told him…" 

"You probably just needed to tell someone. And he can be kinda easy to talk to – you know, cause he really listens, and stuff," Dawn suggested.

"Yeah, he does, doesn't he?" Buffy agreed.

"We talked about it, you know. Me and Spike. About heaven. While you were – gone," Dawn confided. "Talked about you and mom being together again. Happy. 'Doin' good deeds' Spike said." Dawn paused. "Did you, um… did you see mom?"

Buffy tried to find the words to explain her experience. "I'm not sure. It wasn't really like that. I was still me, you know, but it wasn't like here. Everything was just soft, and safe, and warm. And I could kinda feel mom, like I could feel everyone else. But not in the sense that I could touch her, or anyone else. It was just – I knew they were okay – the people I care about. Or, at least, that they were in safe hands, being taken care of, or that they would be, that someone was watching out for them. Does that make any sense?"

Dawn considered. "Kinda." She paused. "Maybe it's one of those things where you had to be there." Dawn looked down at her hands, and Buffy watched her twist them together. "And you were," she went on at last. "I'm thinking there aren't too many people on earth who can say that, Buffy." She paused again. "Probably none, unless you wanna count those near death experience people. Do you know how lucky you are? To know what heaven is like? You'll probably go back there, too, someday."

_I will, _Buffy thought._ Someday that will all be mine again. Someday. And forever. _

"I'm glad you told me." Dawn added. "You need to tell me stuff like this, Buffy. I'm your sister. You said I was helpful, but it still would have been better if I'd known what was going on. And I'm old enough to know."

"You're only fourteen. Some things –"

"Fifteen," Dawn corrected. 

Right. Fifteen. She'd missed her birthday. What with the being dead and all. 

"And you were already the Slayer when you were fifteen," Dawn reminded her.

Buffy took a deep breath and blew it slowly out. "Being the Slayer when I was fifteen wasn't so wonderful, you know. I found out a lot of things I still wish I didn't know, and maybe I'm just trying to protect you a little."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Buffy, protecting me is fine. You know, from demons, and from all the assorted wonderfulness of living on the Hellmouth. But regular stuff? Just tell me. I hate it when people hide stuff from me, make decisions for me because they don't think I can handle anything. I'm not a kid."

Buffy looked into her serious eyes. "Okay. I promise that I'll _try_. And I – I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away, that you had to worry about me." 

Buffy rolled to the edge of the bed and stood up. "And Dawnie?"

"Yeah?"

"If someone makes me forget heaven again, you and Spike know, and you can remind me, okay?"

'Yeah. Okay."

"Promise me?" Buffy asked, a certain wistfulness in her voice.

"I promise," her sister assured her.

~*~

Heaven.

Of course she'd been in heaven. How could she ever have doubted it for a minute? She should never have listened to Willow and gotten all worried about it.

After all, 'Chosen One', right? She was bound to go to heaven. Buffy was, like, a superhero or something, just like 'Joan' had said in the Magic Box. Dawn shifted restlessly, trying to ignore the niggling little feeling of resentment. _She was** happy** for Buffy._ Of course she was. What kind of a horrible person would she be if she wasn't happy to know her sister had been in heaven? It's not like she'd _wanted Buffy to be in hell._

Dawn flopped onto her back. _Don't, Dawn, she told herself harshly. __Don't do this. _

_You are **glad your sister was in heaven. You are **not** secretly wishing she hadn't been. A moment of jealousy that Buffy probably knew what her future held does ****not make you evil. You are ****not thinking bad, evil thoughts. You're just thinking. And there's nothing wrong with that. **_

_Things are changing. **You're **changing. It doesn't matter what you were before you were Dawn Summers. You can be more than that. More than something created to destroy the world. Better. You **can. Youcanyoucanyoucanyoucan….**_

_Spike is changing, and you can change too. It doesn't matter much how you start out… Isn't that what he'd said? And Spike knew a lot, about stuff, and about evil. He must know what he was talking about._

Dawn moved from one position to another, unable to get comfortable. 

Buffy didn't feel like she'd been with mom. That surprised her. Almost as soon as Buffy died, Dawn had figured Buffy and her mom were together in heaven. She'd worried a little about that portal thing, but since Buffy's body had stayed in this dimension, she'd figured diving into it like that hadn't sent her anywhere. Her conversations with Spike last summer had sort of lent foundations to her heaven ideas, and, after that, she hadn't woven her imaginings around anything but that scenario. They were together, happy, having fun and being all sort of helpful-ish. Dawn wasn't quite sure who she'd thought they were helping, or how, because, really, who needed help in heaven?, but she'd liked the general good-deed-doing idea. Maybe it was even kinda like that 'Touched By An Angel' show Tara liked. Dawn had told herself over and over that the idea was one of her lamest ever, but she'd still fantasized about her mom and Buffy showing up to help her through some big crisis. Or through one of those 'this choice is going to change the course of your life' moments.

Or even just to say hi. Maybe they'd look like strangers, but she'd still feel something, and later she'd realize it had been them.

Dawn pulled her extra pillow into her arms, hugging it tightly.

But now… Weren't you with the people you loved when you died? Get reunited with them? Were you just – alone? Dawn didn't like that idea at all. Buffy said it had been wonderful. Perfect peace. Like floating in an ocean of warmth and love or something like that. Personally? Dawn thought she'd be a lot happier surrounded by the people she loved, instead of floating in some huge sea all alone, even if it was all peaceful.

If you were just alone, maybe it didn't matter all that much where you ended up.

~*~

He was out there – on the roof. Buffy wondered if she should try to talk to him, but decided against it. She was exhausted, and if he was still in the mood to argue, she didn't think she had the energy to match him.

She'd decided against going in to Tara, too. She'd stood outside the door of her mom's old bedroom, listening to the quiet sobs from inside, debating whether or not she should knock. Even though they hadn't spoken much since she'd come back, Buffy felt somehow_ easier with Tara than she did with the others. Tara seemed to radiate an inner peace that Buffy had often envied, and that calmness appealed to her even more now. But she didn't know enough about the other woman to know if she could be of any help to her now. Maybe Tara needed some time alone. Buffy had moved away, promising herself that she would talk to Tara in the morning._

She was _still_ exhausted, but she'd been laying awake for what seemed like hours, her active mind denying her any real rest. She was happy about the talk with Dawn, and hoped her sister would adjust to everything she'd told her. She was concerned about Willow, upset for Tara, and as for Spike…

She'd spent a lot of time with him since she'd come back and, now, after the 'moment' they'd shared at the Bronze, she wondered where it was all leading. The 'moment' had been hot, amazing. And it had been accompanied by a couple of, um, _accessory_ moments. 

He cared about her, for her. She knew that…  

_Look at me! I... l**ove... you. You're all I bloody think about... Dream about... You're in my gut, my throat... I'm drowning in you, Summers. Drowning in you…**_

When he'd told her he loved her – before – she'd told herself repeatedly that it was some sick obsession, that he was incapable of really_ loving. No soul. Can't love. Cut and dried, right? Angel had made that pretty clear, and Giles had backed that theory up._

But even then she'd  wondered about it, had felt that there was _something there, inside him, something beyond obsession. If she'd really believed he was nothing more than a totally evil, mad stalker guy, she never would have taken her mom and Dawn to him to be protected. She'd __trusted him with them. More than once. _

But she hadn't had the time or the energy to dwell on it, to deal with it or with him. Her mother's illness and death, Dawn, Glory, monks and knights, the impending end of the world as they'd known it… Somehow, trying to understand Spike and their odd relationship hadn't been very high on her list of priorities.

She didn't think Spike had really had the time to think it through either, to understand what he'd been feeling, or why. Certainly he'd been having major problems accepting it. _"Because this – with you – is wrong. I know it! I'm not a complete idiot!..." _

Not to mention the trouble he'd had trying to figure out how to deal with it. Chaining her up had been bad enough. She didn't even want to think about the Buffybot, which had totally squigged her out. _"It wasn't one time. It was lots of times. And lots of different ways. I could make sketches." Buffy could remember overhearing Willow telling Xander what the bot had said to her. Unexpectedly, she felt a sort of guilty curiosity run through her. _Had Spike kissed the bot the way he kissed her? Touched it the way he touched her?_ Just the thought sent a funny little frisson of something weird racing along her nerve endings. Buffy made a face. The bot was__ not something she wanted to dwell on. __Ever. And, apparently, for more than just the __'eeeww, gross', reasons. _

Of course, even if Spike had been having trouble dealing with his feelings, he hadn't seemed to have any doubt that they existed, or that they were real, and strong. He'd clearly wanted to explore them, act on them. And he'd seemed almost equally sure that she felt something, too. 

_"You can't tell me there isn't anything there between you and me. I know you feel something."_

She hadn't thought so. Not then. In fact, she'd been upset, angry, even disgusted. And strangely afraid. 

_"We have something, Buffy. It's not pretty, but it's real, and there's nothing either one of us can do about it."_

No, Spike. We. Do. Not. Have. _Something._ She could still remember repeating that over and over in her head. We. Have. _Nothing. And she'd made her lack of feelings for him pretty clear to him, too, hadn't she? __"The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious." Not a lot of room for doubt there._

But when Glory had tortured him…

It had changed – things. _Something._ She wasn't quite sure what, but… It showed her something inside him, and had made her look at him, think of him in a slightly different way_. "Angel had a soul. He was good." "And I can be too. I've changed Buffy... Something's happening to me." She still hadn't had the time or energy to dwell on it, but something _had_ changed. Something in how she thought about the whole situation, about __him…_

_"Because Buffy... the other, not so pleasant Buffy… anything happened to Dawn, it'd destroy her. I couldn't live, her bein' in that much pain. Let Glory kill me first. Nearly bloody did."_

_"I couldn't live, her bein' in that much pain."_

_That had no longer felt like some sick obsession. _That_ had felt like something more… _

The kind of tortures Glory had subjected him to… hours and hours of it…

And why? To protect Dawn, and to try to protect _her_ from having to endure any more pain. _"I couldn't live, her bein' in that much pain."_

That single act, and those words, had changed something in _her, in how _she_ felt… Oh, she hadn't suddenly fallen in love with him, hadn't had any romantic feelings for him… It wasn't like that. But when they'd gone on the run from Glory, Spike hadn't been with them just because he'd stolen the Winnebago. He'd been with them because she fell they could use his help, because she felt he had earned a spot in the group, and because she knew she could count on him to put Dawn's well-being first. And, most importantly, _because he had earned the right to offer his protection.__

That he'd taken his promise to protect Dawn so seriously, even after her death…

That meant a lot to her. _A lot._

And since she'd come back?

She was comfortable with him. More than anyone on this planet, she was comfortable with him. But it was more than that. She was _worried about him thinking he was responsible for her death, __concerned that Willow had done something – or _tried_ to do something to 'mess with his mind'. _Worried. Concerned._ She _cared_ about him. She didn't know how much or how deeply… but something was happening. And it was more than just feeling at ease with him._

_He mattered to her._

The acknowledgement didn't make her feel restless or uncomfortable. It didn't worry or upset her…

She tried to recapture the images that had been running through her head when she'd first seen him standing at the base of the stairs in her house, looking up at her, and those that she'd seen in those first hours, days, weeks… Buffy grimaced again briefly at the concept of time. She'd seen images of _them, the two of them, rapid fire pictures… What? Where? They weren't memories, were they? She'd had so many problems with her memory since she'd been brought back that she was hesitant now to trust its reliability. And the images were so vague now, almost impossible to capture at all, much less to analyze in any detail. But she'd always felt relatively confident in the accuracy of her memories of Spike, and she did know that they hadn't _felt_ like memories. They hadn't felt familiar in any way. They'd been of – __other times. Buffy shifted as her brow furrowed. _

She didn't understand…

A sense of loss flowed through her, a deep, inexplicable sadness. Buffy curled onto her side, drawing her knees up, and tucking a hand beneath her cheek. She tried to reassure herself, as she had so often when these images hovered on the fringes of her mind, teasing her, that it would be okay. They aren't lost forever. I'll get them back, she thought… Glimpses. What's to come… 

Maybe, when I get them back, when I can see them again, I'll even understand them. 

She tried to shrug off the encroaching sadness.  She didn't want to think of the things she'd lost, the things she was desperately afraid she was still losing. _Your memories are back now,_ she told herself firmly. _Maybe you'll stop feeling like little pieces of yourself are dissolving into nothingness. Gone._

_You're all here. Everything you need is inside you. Spike had seemed very certain of that as far as her Slayerness went. Maybe it's true of everything. Or maybe you won't ever miss those things you're afraid are gone. Won't miss them.  Won't even know what they were…_

More than losing anything else, she feared losing her memories of heaven. Already it felt harder to hold onto them, to remember clearly. She wouldn't be able to bear it if she lost them altogether. She should write them down, she thought, wondering why she hadn't considered it before. She felt a fleeting sense of amusement. It wouldn't take long. She could never find the words to adequately describe it, anyway. Tomorrow, she promised herself. After she'd talked to Willow and Tara. And made sure everyone was alright, that they'd all come through the unusual events of the night relatively unscathed. She'd write down her impressions then, commit them to paper.

She missed it so much, the warmth and peace of heaven. No worries, no pain, no death.

She didn't regret being back – here. Not really. Not exactly. It was far more complicated than that. 

_"And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor pain, for the former things have passed away."_

Buffy blinked, trying to… It didn't help. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, rolling down her face to fall onto her hand. More followed. Her knees drew up closer to her chest.

~*~

Buffy rolled onto her back, brushing the back of her hand over her face. Had she slept? She must have. Nnnn… She arched her body, stretching her limbs before she got up and moving quietly down the hall to the bathroom for a glass of water. She really wanted some juice but the effort of going down to the kitchen seemed too great. She wondered vaguely what had happened to her dorm refrigerator. 'Cause it would sooo fit into that corner between the windows… She could stock it with some of those little bottles of fruit juice. God, orange juice sounded so _good_ right now…

When she went back into her bedroom, she only hesitated a moment before crossing to her window. She slid it open, but instead of climbing out onto the roof, she turned and sat on the sill, facing into her room, and pressing her hands between her knees casually.

"Spike," she greeted.

"Slayer."

It was a long time before she went on. Spike, still looking out over the yard, seemed content to wait for her to speak.

"I talked to Dawn about… about being in heaven."

"I'm glad, love," he answered, his voice as quiet as hers. "She needed to know."

"Yeah, I'm glad, too. I'm, ah, still not ready to tell the others, though."

A pause.

"It's your decision."

"But you don't agree with it."

"No."

"I just don't –" she broke off. "We've been over this."

"Yeah."

"I'm going to talk to Willow, too. And Tara. Find out what she knows, what she meant about Willow making her forget – _again." Buffy paused. "What did Willow do to you?"_

"To me? Nothing."

"You said she tried to mess with your head."

"It's not important, Slayer."

"Did she try to make you forget something?"

Silence.

"Spike?"

"Not. Important."

"Why are you so stubborn?" Her voice was still quiet, but her exasperation was clear.

"I wouldn't talk stubborn if I were you, love."

Buffy hesitated, wanting to push, to demand an answer. But she knew that tone, the way he altered the mood of the discussion. Pushing wouldn't help. The subject was closed. 

"There you go, extolling my virtues again," she said instead.

"There's a lot of raw material to work with."

"You and Dawn team up on this whole thing, don't you? Dawn freely admitted that you're tutoring her in The Faults of Buffy Summers 101."

He snorted. 

"I – I wanted you to know that I'm not gonna let Willow 'get away with this', that I'm not just gonna let it go. But I can't just kick her out of the house – even if I haven't quite figured out why she's living here yet," she added with a degree of genuine perplexity. "I – it wouldn't be fair to her."

"Slayer –"

"What?"

"I jes'…"

She waited.

"You and little sis. I don't want anyone messing with either of you, fucking with you in any way."

"I know," Buffy said quietly.

"You're important to me, both of you." The words sounded dragged from him.

"I know."

They hadn't once turned to look at each other, but going over the points of their earlier arguments more calmly cleared the air a little, and the silence they now shared was comfortable.

"I should try to sleep," Buffy said after a few minutes had passed.

"You're okay then, love?" he asked, voice low. "Earlier…"

He'd heard her crying, she realized. Buffy swallowed, hunching her shoulders, as her knees squeezed her hands briefly. She hadn't been sobbing, but she imagined the hitches in her breathing had given her away.

"It was nothing," she hedged. "Just a – a _moment, I guess."_

Another pause.

"And now the moment's gone?"

Her lips curved. "Yeah."

"Go to bed, pet."

"Night."

"Night."

"Oh, and Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"There's no swearing in this house."

His head swiveled slowly toward her, and his eyes narrowed in disbelief. "What?" he sounded vaguely – outraged.

She looked at him over her shoulder, brows raised. "You heard me. My mom hated swearing. It was one of her unbreakable rules. She made me sit in a chair, enjoying a 'time out' every time I slipped up. Later, I got grounded. Dawn, of course, _never _slipped up in front of mom. She had this amazing mom radar. I always envied it. You would not believe what that girl got away with…"

"Yeah, I would. And I'll say whatever I bloody well feel like saying, Slayer."

One brow went higher. "Not in my house, mister," she said firmly.

Spike made some indescribable sound of amusement. "Yes, ma'am."

"That's better." She nodded her approval at his acceptance of her authority, and kept the smile off her face.

"In deference to Joyce," he jibed, deflating her. "Your mum was a fine lady."

"Are you implying I'm not a lady?"

"Pffft." His eyes gleamed. They drifted past her to the bed. "Not implying it, love." His eyes came back to her, running with slow deliberation over the curves of her upper body. "'m counting on it."

Buffy's eyes widened a little. She stared. She hesitated. She stood up and reached for the wooden frame of the window. "You're such a pig, Spike," she finally told him, and closed the window, tight.

His looked back out over the lawn. "Oink," he said with satisfaction.

~*~

The dream felt odd, different. Not a Slayer dream. At least, she didn't think so… But something about it…

It seemed more real than a normal dream, or perhaps less so – neither of which made any sense. Nor did the fact that she was trying to analyze the dream while she was having it. In the dream, though, that analytical bent passed as perfectly normal.

The montage of images _seemed logical, even straightforward. They seemed connected, but… but maybe – weren't. _

Flesh. Bare flesh. Pale and hard, gleaming in silvery blue light.  

Her bed.

A breeze disturbed the curtains at the window, causing them to play with the moonlight that streamed in, lighting blue eyes.

A familiar voice, not _his, the tone huskier than was usual. Darker. Whose?_

And… blood.

There was blood.

Buffy flung up an arm, but she didn't wake.

Outside her window, smoke curled up into the night sky.

~*~

Tara was washing the dishes. Buffy crossed to the sink, pulled a dishtowel from a drawer, and started drying the glasses the were draining in the rack. She hadn't slept much, and she was guessing that Tara hadn't either. And a glance at Tara's face confirmed her other fears. She'd been crying. 

"Did Willow stay out all night?" she asked gently.

Tara shrugged. "She might have. I haven't seen her."

Buffy accepted a plate, dried it, and took another before speaking again.

"You wanna talk?" she asked quietly.

Tara kept swishing the sponge over the plate in her hand. She rinsed it, and set it in the drainer when she saw that Buffy's hands were full.

"Dawn said that she overheard you saying something to Willow about her trying to make you forget – again."

Tara had missed a spot on the plate in her hand, and Buffy wiped it clean rather than returning it to her to be re-washed. 

"Tara? Can you tell me what's happening? Maybe I can help. Maybe we all can."

"She's done it a c-couple of t-times," Tara finally shared. 

"Made you forget something?"

Tara nodded. "We've been ar-arguing a little, and she decided to 'solve' our problems by making me forget them."  

"I'm sorry, Tara. I haven't been paying a lot of attention to what's been going on, and I –"

"Don't apologize for that, Buffy. You've had a lot of things to work through since we brought you back." Tara pushed a strand of hair off her cheek with the back of her wrist, and turned to her. "I can see it on your face every day. You shouldn't feel bad that you didn't notice my problems."

"And Willow's."

"Willow doesn't think we _have_ any problems," Tara told her with some bitterness. "So long as I keep my mouth shut and don't express any opinions."

Buffy was shocked. That didn't sound like Willow. She'd often thought her friend _enjoyed_ arguments. She always seemed to have all the points she wanted to make laid out logically in her mind. Sometimes she actually had them written out on note cards. And for Willow to deny Tara her voice? That wasn't like Willow _at all._

"What are you arguing about?" Buffy asked hesitantly. "You don't have to tell me," she added quickly. "If you don't want to, or if it's too personal."

"She's b-being reckless. W-With magic. Using it too much."

"In bad ways?" Buffy felt fear well up.

"That's not it, exactly. She's just using it carelessly, to make things easier for herself. And that _is bad." Tara closed her eyes and took an audible breath. "Magic isn't a game, or a toy. It's serious. It's… it's almost obscene to use magic for things like – like making decorations for Xander and Anya's engagement party, or to do the laundry or something. E-especially when we couldn't use it for s-something good, something important… like saving your mother's life."_

Buffy rubbed Tara's upper arm in a movement meant to comfort both of them. Tara looked at her from under her lashes. 

"That would have been so wonderful. I w-wish we could have done that for you and for Dawnie."

"Some things aren't meant to be, I guess," Buffy said softly, sadly.

Tara reached for the frying pan she'd used to make Dawn's pancakes.

"I asked her what she was doing last night. She claimed she just wanted to help you. That it hurt to see you in pain, not sleeping well, not being yourself. She thought if she could take that pain away from you, make you forget about being –"

"I understand," Buffy interrupted. 

Tara looked at her thoughtfully. "Is that what you want her to do? Do you want her to help you forget? I mean – I'd understand if…"

"No," Buffy said softly. "That's not what I want."

Tara studied her carefully, her eyes only moving back to the sink when Buffy shifted a little restlessly under her steady regard.

Buffy straightened, standing a bit taller. "Do you think it's time for an intervention?" she asked. After all, she thought, why should the group only hold interventions for _her_? And an intervention would take the onus off of her and redistribute it onto everyone. Where is should be. In this case, there was nothing wrong with sharing responsibility. _"You need to learn how to balance everything, Slayer. What and when you can let go. Stop taking the whole bleeding world onto your shoulders."_

"We have to make sure Willow really understands…" 

Tara looked at her. "I know I'm kind of quiet, and that people p-probably think I'm not very assertive. But I c-can be, you know. And I _have_ made my feelings clear. After the first time, I told her that I considered what she had done to me a violation, like mental rape.

Buffy felt the shock of the words runs through her. 

"She knew how I felt and that still didn't stop her from doing it a second time. And then this thing last night – with all of us. Just a little mistake in the forgetting spell she was trying to cast on you, she said. And I – I'm not sure if I believe her."

"I'm so sorry, Tara," Buffy said at the desolation in the other girl's voice. "So sorry."

The two women silently finished the dishes and wiped down the counters and the stove. 

"We'll talk to Giles," Buffy tried to offer some reassurance. "Maybe there's something we can do. 'Cause something isn't right with Will, and I think she might need our help."

~*~

Willow was casually looking through her pile of mail as she walked into the house. Her eyes lifted from the third piece of junk mail offering her 0% interest on a new credit card, and she froze. They were all there; Tara, Buffy and Dawn, Giles, Xander and Anya. If it was dark, Spike would probably be present too, she thought. They were grouped together in the living room, and every eye was trained on her, every expression serious. 

_"Do you realize I was surrounded, completely surrounded by **rabbits? Do you have any idea how traumatic that was? And it was all because I didn't know who I was or that magical intuition that wasn't vengeance related wasn't exactly one of my strong points. What if that had been you, and you'd been surrounded by frogs? Would it be so simple to dismiss then? Just think about **that**!"**_

_"Altering memories is a gross invasion of privacy. What happened to us seems to have been incidental, a factor in a great many of your spells. But what you did, or tried to do to Buffy and __Tara__ – what could you have been thinking – to try to alter someone's memories, or take them from them?"_

_"I don't know a lot about what's been happening since I – left. And I realize I've been a little withdrawn lately. I have some problems I need to work through, and I'd appreciate it if everyone would just give me a little time and space and let me try to do that. You told __Tara__ that you were just trying to make me forget things that happened to me – forget what happened while I was gone. But I don't want you to make that decision for me. I want to work through things on my own. I **have** to._

_"Until I spoke to the others I thought this might be just a one time mistake. But it doesn't sound that way to me anymore. _

_"My first responsibility is to Dawn and to her safety and happiness. We came under attack last night. It was good that Spike and I still had our fighting skills or we all could have been killed when those vamps broke into the shop. That's dangerous, and we face enough dangerous situations. I don't want you or anyone pulling strings I don't even know you're tugging on. And Willow? I'm sorry to say this, but if you can't control this, you'll have to move out, to find another place to live."_

_" Giles_ and Anya thought they were engaged. What if they'd had sex, or, er, something?"__

_"__Willow__, I love you. You know that. You say you just want us to stop arguing, and for us to be happy. Well, I want us to be happy, too. But I want to be happy because things are right, because **we're right, and strong, and care about each other. To get rid of my objections by making me forget them – it's just wrong. Couples argue, Will, and when we do, I deserve the right to my voice. I don't think I can exist in a relationship where I'm not allowed that. My voice, and my opinions.  I told you how I felt when you violated my mind by trying to make me forget arguments. But you did it again, almost right away, and now expanded that invasion to our friends as well.**_

Even Dawn had opened her mouth several times to speak, but finally just shook her head and passed. Buffy squeezed her sister's hand.

Oh, it was all very civilized. And the actual words coming out of their mouths were more kindly phrased. Not so accusatory. They'd obviously practiced them. Had they rehearsed together? Willow wondered, remembering how they'd done so before confronting Buffy – who before this afternoon had been Miss Can't Say 'Boo' – with their knowledge that Angel had returned from hell. 

And they kept assuring her that they loved her, that they were worried about her. 

Concerned. 

_Deeply concerned._

But it still came down to this: You messed up big time, Willow. You screwed up, Willow. You were _wrong,_ Willow. And finally; mess up again, and we're gonna kick your ass out of this house, Willow. _Away from __Tara__. _We're sorry, but we'd have no choice. Blah, Tara's emotional well-being, blah, Dawn, blah, blah.  

It all still amounted to an ultimatum. 

~*~

She'd been walking for a long time, completely unaware of her surroundings. It wasn't until someone appeared in front of her that she seemed to come back to herself a little. Enough to realize that she was not in the best part of town. She was too close to the docks, and noticing them now, the dark warehouses lining the streets looked empty and foreboding. 

Her eyes came up and met those of the man in front of her. He wasn't tall or broad. His face was scarred, his hair long and unkempt. But she could feel the power radiating from him.

Willow took a step back, belatedly preparing to defend herself. She raised a hand.

He caught it in one of his.

"No need for that, strawberry. I'm here to help you."

Willow met his eyes, and he smiled.

~*~

Author's Notes

I feel like I've just written a 'filler ep'. With only a few exceptions, this chapter doesn't do much but go over stuff we already knew... But I thought the Buffy/Dawn bonding was too important to reduce to a paragraph in a conversation between Spike and one of the sisters. Upcoming chapters do more to move the story forward and establish relationships. I promise.

Willow's encounter at the end of this chapter was supposed to be with an original character. But there were things about the Rack character that I liked – actually, it was mostly the cloaked building that I liked – and since it was going to be obvious I'd drawn on him, I decided to plunge right in and just use the same name and description, etc. I think you'll find his character and his role rather different, though. For those of you – and I know you're out there yelling at me right now – who think Tara's description of Willow's problems, and Rack's appearance combine to mean I'm going to do the whole 'Willow's just addicted to magic' subplot, just do what Buffy keeps telling herself to do; relax, relax, relax.

The feedback I continue to get on this story has been nothing short of amazing, and I'm incredibly grateful. To know that people are enjoying the story means a lot to me. I've been trying to catch up on some e-mail, but I'm so far behind now, it may never happen. If you've not heard back from me, please don't think that that somehow implies your note wasn't read or appreciated. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Mary

April 22, 2003


	9. Awakenings Chapter Nine

Journeys by Mary 

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love. 

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

See notes, etc. preceding chapter one.

A/N: This chapter contains some material not suitable for FF.net. If you are over 18 and would like to read the unedited version, it can be found at All About Spike: :

Chapter nine is part 22 at this site. If link does not appear, please try a Google Search, or e-mail me at MKStatz@aol.com, and include an age statement.

I feel I have edited on the side of caution. If anyone feels I have left in material that does not fit an R rating, please let me know. I dislike the vagueness of FF.net's policy, but as I've chosen to continue posting here, I am trying to abide by it.

My thanks to everyone who has been sending feedback. It's wonderful to hear that people are enjoying the story, and your notes have meant a lot to me.

Mary

**Chapter Nine**

"You okay?" Spike offered Buffy his hand, and pulled her up to her feet, his eyes noting the grimace she made as he did so.

"Yes." She sounded disgusted, and Spike sucked in his cheeks, trying to hide his amusement, as he watched her brush down her clothes. 

She could be so stubborn. 'Course he liked that. Stubborn, determined, bloody proud. Yeah, he smiled to himself. That was his Slayer. 

Everything might not yet have clicked back into place, but she'd come so far since she'd come back… He'd told her that everything she needed was inside her, and, with every day that passed, he grew more sure of the truth of that statement. He didn't know if _she_ believed it yet, but he'd seen signs of growing confidence in her, signs that she was attempting to take more control of herself and her life. 

Like weaknesses. Or things she looked at that way. 

The other night, she'd gotten pinned under a very large B'Lon D-elegion demon. It had been a couple of minutes before he could off the one he was fighting himself and come to her aid. By the time he was able to get her out from under that mountain of flesh, she'd already been in the throes of a panic attack. 

Realizing what was happening, Spike had dropped to his knees and moved to pull her up into his arms. But Buffy had twisted away, refusing, for the first time, his help.

He knew she'd had panic attacks during the day, when she was alone. He didn't think there'd been many, but there had been enough that she'd mentioned them. That had been the first time, though, that he'd seen her try to deal with one on her own. She curled onto her side on the ground, knees drawn up part way. Not a fetal position exactly, but leaning in that direction.

He'd had to force himself not to touch her, not to use his voice to soothe her. Been bloody hard, that. Looking back, he figured the whole thing had only last for three or four minutes, but by the time she pushed herself into a sitting position, he felt like he'd been watching her struggle to breathe for hours.  

_"I'm so sick of this," she complained, gripping her knees, and bending her head over them. "Of being Gasp-O-Rama Girl." _

_Spike rose fluidly rose to his feet, stepping back silently, and a minute later Buffy followed, her breathing still slightly ragged._

_"Why can't I control this? It's just breathing. Everyone does it."_

_"Not everyone," he corrected. "Some of us are above that." _

_"You breathe all the time," she corrected his correction. Her tone was short. "And you have to be getting fed up with me gasping like some kind of – I don't even know – gasping thing, half the night."_

_He eyed her with derision. "Yeah, you finally figured it out, huh? Makes me wanna heave, tuckin' you up in my arms."_

_"You can't tell me you're not getting tired of sitting out on the roof, hanging out for the next Summers nightmare," she insisted._

_She was obviously working herself into a snit. When that happened, why did it so often seem to follow that she got all narky with him? Bloody bint._

_"And just for the record, do you ever actually sleep?"_

_"I get by," he muttered, turning away from her to pick up the stake she'd dropped._

_Buffy snatched it out of his hand. "What the hell was that, anyway?"_

_"B'Lon D-elegion demon."_

_"That translates from some obscure demon language to 'mountain of gooey green flesh' right?"_

Actually, he thought it was more like 'exalted savior' but, at the time, he hadn't thought his Slayer was really looking to further her education.  Like her breathing, her temper had still been a bit rough about the edges, and it had taken a good twenty minutes for her to calm down again. 

Spike thought the increasing aggravation with her nightmares and panic attacks was a good sign. She wanted to start dealing with her fears herself, to conquer them and to not lean on him as she had been. He approved of the desire, thought it was a good step, taken in strength. Hadn't made it any bloody easier to hold himself aloof, though, watching her suffer like that, had it? He doubted she had any clue… At least if he was touching her, talking, making some effort to help… If she thought for one minute that he would abandon his vigil on the roof, knowing she still had nightmares almost every night, then she'd obviously gone over completely barmy.

~*~

"Stupid demon," Buffy grumbled. If he laughed at her…

"Well, yeah," Spike agreed. _Why did it so often sound like, 'Well, duh!' the way he said it?_ "S'Dandma Demon. Not known for being very bright. Their brains are about the size of Harris'."

Buffy lifted a shoulder and rolled her neck a little, trying not to be too obvious. That had hurt, damn it!

"What exactly was that, Slayer?"

Buffy looked away, embarrassed, but determined not to show it. "What?"

He snorted. "That pitiful excuse for a kick. Are your pants finally so tight that you actually can't lift your leg anymore? Or is age catching up with you?"

_You say one word about me not being firm enough, **anywhere**, and you **will be dust in the wind, **_she thought_._ "That was a perfectly acceptable fighty-type kick," she said instead. "That Sandman thing just ducked at the right time."

"Riiight." He drew out the word. "And that was an acceptable kick if the goal is to land yourself on your arse and give your opponent a golden opportunity to sink his two inch claws into you."

He _had_ prevented _that_, she supposed. The demon's claws had been coming right at her face. She had to admit that Spike, by doing that whole 'killing it' thing, had probably prevented the need for stitches, or at the very least, annoying facial cuts. They healed pretty quickly, but she'd always thought she could single-handedly keep Maybelline in business with the purchase of cover up alone… 

And she didn't have to admit any such thing to _him _either.

She shifted her shoulder again, and with a roll of his eyes, Spike moved behind her. He put one hand on her left shoulder to brace her, and laid the other against her right shoulder blade. "Here?" he questioned.

"A little lower."

His hand slid down to just under the jut of bone. "Here?"

She hissed in a breath. "Yeah."

He started rubbing the spot that was causing her discomfort. Oooh, that felt _good._ Well, actually, it kind of hurt, but… 

"I think we should step up your workouts at the Magic Box, love," he suggested, not for the first time. "You know you need to brush up more."

"I'm doing _fine_," she said. Giles had told her he was very pleased, even_ impressed with how hard she'd been working. Why did Spike always seem to want to push for more? But, even annoyed, she didn't pull away from him. She wasn't completely stupid. His hands felt great._

Of course, Buffy acknowledged silently, she agreed with Spike… She _had been working hard. But she knew she was still missing – something. If she worked just a little harder, a few more hours a week, maybe she could overcome that. Somehow compensate for it. Giles and Spike had been disagreeing about the whole training schedule. Giles claimed that she was making excellent progress, and that they could afford to ease up on her, cut back on her workouts. She wished she'd recorded those words coming out of his mouth, because she was certain such a tape would come in very handy someday. Spike disagreed, feeling she still had a lot to relearn. Buffy just wished they'd quit arguing and make a decision. She was willing to follow their advice, and… _

Buffy frowned. 

That wasn't right. _She_ should be making the decisions. Or at least contributing. _It was her job._

_Slayer. _

It wasn't like her to sit back and let others work out the details. It hadn't been before, and it couldn't be now. Or ever.

_Chosen One._

She pushed away the mild panic that seemed to regularly accompany thoughts of her destiny.

"You're not serious, are you? The 'Sandman'," his voice clearly conveyed his sarcasm, "almost played slice and dice with your face just now. The other night it was a Bjounjua demon." At her puzzled glance over her shoulder, he elaborated. "Pale yellow, white hair on its nose, smelled of roast pork?" She gave a nod of recognition, remembering how hungry she'd felt after they'd killed it, and he went on. "It almost got the better of you. And they're not very good fighters. Usually an easy kill." 

Spike sighed, and his hands shifted positions slightly as he continued the massage. "You _are_ working hard, love,' he assured her, his voice low now, and the sarcasm gone. "And your skills are sharpening. You know it, I know it, your Watcher is beaming with disgusting pride about it. But you're not up to where you were, and that's where I want you. Where you need to be. You were out of the game for hundreds of years, after all." He leaned over her shoulder and looked into her face, his eyes holding a faint smile. "Layin' about. Getting lazy, maybe. Stale."

"I know," she admitted. "If you think… an hour more a day, maybe?"

"Two would suit me better, but I'll go with one if at least half of that is sparring with me." He paused. "Couldn't do better than learning from the best, love," he finished cockily.

"Is 'the best' coming to help us work out?" she asked, deadpan. "Don't tell me Giles sent for someone from the Council?"

"Those wankers?"

Buffy gave a huff of amusement, and tipped her head to the side, stretching a little. He really did have wonderful hands, she thought, enjoying their touch. He abandoned the hollow under her shoulder blade, and his hands moved up, stopping to massage the spot on each side of her neck where it curved into her shoulders. She almost purred as his thumbs began to apply pressure along her upper spine, right into her hairline.

"Your muscles are in knots here, love."

"I know," she said. "It's been bothering me for a couple of days. It might have been that –" She had been going to say 'Zoom-Zoom' demon, but since she'd just mispronounced the other demon's name, she thought she'd be better off not attempting it. How did he remember them all, anyway? It was so irritating. "—that pork smelling demon," she substituted. "He did some big neck-snapping chop thing on me." 

"You should have put some ice on it right away, pet."

She knew that. She was an expert on first aid. So why hadn't she done it? 

"Too late now?" she pouted.

~*~

"_Oooh__, pouty... Look at that lip. Gonna get it, gonna get it..."_

For some reason, that outthrust lower lip always sent a potent bolt of lust through him. His hands stilled for a moment as he remembered Red's spell. The one that had led to their brief, but very memorable, engagement. _Buffy on his lap. Buffy** wriggling** on his lap. Buffy's mouth. The way she'd kissed him... God, that mouth… _His mind shifted to the way she'd been kissing him at the Bronze the other night. Even better. No Watcher sitting in the same room, or mucking about in the kitchen, clanging things together with disapproval. Spike's mouth twisted with self derision. If Willow's spells kept leading to such bleedin' fantastic Buffy moments, maybe he should reconsider his objections to them. His body clutched. God, they'd been in a building full of people, and they'd been all alone...

Except for that bloody smart mouthed waitress, he remembered, trying to pull his mind away from the memory of how his Slayer's body had arched and moved against his as she'd climaxed. Didn't work. He almost groaned out loud, the memories working on his body the way nature intended them too. He swallowed, and his hands resumed the massage. A little more caressing now, perhaps...

"Too late to do any real good," he affirmed. "Doesn't mean it might not still make you feel a bit better. Why don't you give it a try – put some on when you get home?"

"Do you have any ice in your crypt?"

This time he forced his hands to keep moving, even though he felt like something had just struck him hard in the chest.

"Yeah," he managed to say. His voice was soft as he went on. "You wanna stop there, love?"

"I don't know. You have any good movies there that we haven't watched yet?"

Her tone was even, calm. Was he misreading this? He could usually read her pretty well. What did it matter? Time with Buffy was time with Buffy. 

His lips curved. "I might," he conceded.

~*~

"The ice feel good, pet?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure if it will have any lasting benefits, but at least the cold is completely numbing the pain. So, right now? Success."

She readjusted the bag of ice against the back of her neck. 

"Who's that actress?" she asked. 

Spike had checked the movie out from the library, which seemed to have 'wigged' Buffy a little. Didn't have to steal everything, did he? So what if he didn't always get the films he checked out back by the due date? Or sometimes, _ever? She'd told him she liked these older films, and like a poof, he wanted to make sure he had some on hand for her. _

He checked the box the film had come in. "Ruth Hussey." He squinted at the fine print in the dim light of the crypt. "No, wait. That's the sister. Gail Russell," he corrected himself. "Never heard of her."

"She's beautiful," Buffy observed. "Look at her eyes! They're luminous. Do you think it has something to do with the black and white film?"

Spike snorted softly in amusement. 

"You haven't been back all that long, love. Living with Red and Tara rubbing off on you already?" he jibed.

"Very funny, fang boy."

He was lying on his side on the sofa, and Buffy was sitting on the floor leaning back against it near his hip. They often sat like this when watching a film. Sometimes, like now, his fingers touched her hair, toyed with the long strands. She seemed to enjoy it. If he stopped before she apparently thought he should, her head would make an encouraging little gesture. If he didn't continue on then, she would glance over her shoulder, a tiny line of unconscious demand forming between her brows. She never said a word, never said that it felt good, or that she enjoyed it, or that she wanted him to do it. Could be she wasn't even aware of her actions. When she took her seat on the floor, though, she would glance at his position, and place herself within easy reach of his hand.

Tonight, she was slumped into a rather uncomfortable looking slouch, assumed to hold the bag of ice in place. 

By the time _The Uninvited_ was over, the ice had melted and been discarded, and Buffy had shifted onto the sofa, where she was curled into the corner near his feet, asleep. 

~*~

Her eyes flew open. God, had she fallen asleep again? She knew she tended to do that here. She loved this sofa. It was so comfy. It seemed kinda familiar, too...Whatever. So comfy...so tired... Seconds later she was forcing her eyes back open. She had to go home. She sat up, rolling her neck and shoulders. The ice and the massage had done some good, it seemed.

"Better?" Spike asked from somewhere behind her.

"Hmmm."

She stood and turned toward him.

"I should head out before I fall asleep."

"I'll practice my long unused gentlemanly manners, and not mention that you've been snoring for fifteen minutes."

"You're right. They're long unused."

He followed her to the door, and when they reached it she turned back toward him to say goodnight.

Could possibly be considered inviting, but she didn't think it was deliberate, move number one.

He leaned toward her a little, and she lifted her face.

Could possibly be considered inviting, but she didn't think it was deliberate, move number two.

He inhaled her scent, and she tilted her head to the side, which resulted in him bending closer, exploring it more fully.  

Could possibly be considered inviting, but she didn't think it was deliberate, move number three.

It was like the third strike. She was out. She just wasn't sure what she was out _of. Time? Patience? Her mind?_

He hadn't touched her since he'd kissed her in the living room when they'd been arguing. 

But he looked at her. A lot. And it wasn't anything like the way he'd looked at her before 'Joan', or even before – the tower. This was different. More – _personal. As if he knew things about her now that he hadn't known before. His eyes would linger on her face, as they'd always done, but his expression was different. And not just all hot and lustful. Well, okay, sometimes it very hot, and bursting out with lustful. But usually it was more – _intimate_ – than that.  _

But he hadn't touched her since he'd kissed her in the living room when they'd been arguing.

Sometimes when they were working out, practicing some defensive move, he would pause, close to her, and she would see his nostrils flare. His eyes would darken and touch on her mouth, on the line of her throat. And then, when her own eyes moved to _his_ mouth, he would step away. 

And he hadn't touched her since he'd kissed her in the living room when they'd been arguing.

That look _did_ things to her, made heat curl inside her, made her want to step closer to him, to feel him… Sometimes she wanted to do some serious leapage, even though all kinds of things inside her were screaming at her that she wasn't in any shape, mentally or emotionally, to start any type of 'thing'. And even though she'd had a few leap related dreams, and had even, to her surprise, especially the first time it had happened, done a little training room fantasizing, she just didn't know what type of _'thing'_ it would be. 

Why hadn't he touched her since he'd kissed her in the living room when they'd been arguing?

Except she was pretty sure the sex would be good. Really good. Really, _really good. With amazing overtones. Which kind of brought her back to the way he'd been looking at her. And the curling heat, and the idea that maybe she didn't need to write a definition of _'thing'_ right now. Maybe she needed to do some – _research_ – first. Or maybe she could just relax, and see if the definition evolved on its own._

If he ever touched her again.

Her reactions to him the other night at the Bronze had caught her off guard. But strangely, they hadn't really surprised her. Which _seemed_ contradictory, but totally wasn't. When he'd bent down and kissed her, her first reaction had been something deeply profound, roughly translating to 'Huh?'. 'Huh?' had been quickly followed by the far more literate reaction of 'Finally!' Oh yeah, she mentally rolled her eyes, that just hovers right up there near the top of the 'Buffy Logic Scale'.  

Maybe her brain had stopped any functioning beyond wondering why the hell he hadn't touched her since he'd kissed her in the living room when they'd been arguing!

She'd spent endless hours with him since she'd come back, had lain in his bed, in his arms, had talked with him, and been silent with him, had taken comfort from him, had maybe given it, too, a few times, and… She didn't want to mess that up. Didn't want to do anything to lose that, or make things awkward, because she needed those things from him right now. Peace, warmth, comfort. She _knew that, but… but…_

But it had been so long since anyone had touched her. So, so long. 

_Hundreds and hundreds of years._

She wanted to be touched, had felt a growing need for it since their 'moment' in the Bronze. And she wanted _him_ to do the touching. 

Like he'd touched her and kissed her in the living room when they'd been arguing. Only more. Much, much more. More touch. More kiss. Less argue.

His voice came out in a soft hiss. "Buffy."

Her eyes were huge as they locked on his. 

He leaned in closer. But instead of kissing her, he nuzzled his nose against her cheek, and slid it along the line of her jaw. Her name escaped him again. "Buffy..."

Just before his mouth closed over hers, she turned away. _Why? She _wanted_ this, wanted _him_. She knew she did. _

It might not be smart timing, she might not be ready, but she still _did. _

She was facing the door, almost pressed up against it. He didn't back away. Instead, his hands flattened onto the door on either side of her head. He wasn't touching her at all, but his body was surrounding hers. She could feel it. _Him._ She could feel him all around her. Sometimes she thought she could feel him _inside her. Flowing through her veins like blood._

"Stay..." The single word came out so low, and with such intensity, that she shivered. A plea. An invitation. And a promise.

She watched his hand move down the door. Oh _god_. It was a _door! _How could he make that look so – so _caressing,_ so – oh, god.

"I can make you feel so good, love." He still wasn't touching her. "You know I can."  He leaned in and touched his lips to the pulse point just under her ear. To that half hidden little spot she'd never even been aware of until the other night at the Bronze. Since then, she touched her fingers to it several times a day, remembering how it had felt to have his mouth there, to have his tongue lightly tasting the skin there that she now knew was mind-numbingly sensitive.

Her breathing had grown shallow, and her heart was pounding, sounding incredibly loud in her ears. Was that just some sort of audio illusion? Or could he hear it? Buffy knew she didn't have to ask. He was conscious of the beat of her heart whenever they were anywhere near each other, and she was as sure of that as she was that her heart beat at all. 

EDITED

"It's just us, love," he whispered. "Just you and me." His mouth slid down her neck and his blunt teeth nipped softly at her collarbone. "Just us, Buffy." 

She loved how he said her name.

His hands touched her then, moving away from the wood of the door to seek the warmth of her body. They touched her hips, hesitating for a moment as though they longed to settle there, but then he splayed his fingers, and let his hands glide down the front of her thighs. He moved up closer behind her so that finally, _finally_, she could feel his chest against her back, pressing close. His mouth continued to explore her throat.

"Stay, love," he husked. "Let me make you feel good."

_I want him. I wanna let him make me feel good. And, oh god, I wanna make him feel good, too._

EDITED

She locked her eyes onto his, staring into them. The room was lit only by the flickering light of the television and a few candles, but she could still see the blue in his eyes. And the look. _That_ look. That intimate, private, you're-the-only-woman-who-will-ever-see-this-look-in-my-eyes look. 

Buffy brought one of her hands to his face, and laid her palm along his jaw. Her thumb brushed across his lips, distracting him from her eyes, and Spike turned his head slightly so that he could concentrate those lips on her thumb and slide them into her palm. But that wasn't what she wanted. Now right now. She pressed her hand harder to his face, bringing their eyes back into contact. 

EDITED

Buffy wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his body closer. Her lips went to his ear. "Shhh, slooow." She drew back just enough to meet his eyes. "We have time…"

Spike's lips pursed, taking on a wicked cast. "Yeah?" His tone conveyed his willingness to explore a different pace, and he complied, his movements slowing. 

She felt his urgency begin to drift away as his mouth sought hers, his body rocking against her with a slow, sweet pressure. The kiss was long and lush and perfect. God, he had a way of putting his whole body into his kisses. His tongue touched hers, tasting her, tantalizing. No rush. No hurry. His hands left her hips and stroked down her thighs.

EDITED 

When she did, he moved across the room, carrying her, kissing her, his arms wrapped under her, holding her to him. And then they were falling, falling, weightless, and she didn't understand what had happened, how he'd done that, made her feel that, until she realized that they _had _fallen, or rather, jumped, to the lower level of the crypt. He never even stopped kissing her, and he kept it up as he carried her to the bed.

She'd been down here once or twice since she'd come back, _'Don't stop talking. I can breathe when you talk'_, but she couldn't seem to remember any details. She probably hadn't been in any shape to pay attention. Now, her eyes followed him as he moved about the room lighting candles, and she was surprised and pleased by how much she liked it. It was bold, and rather decadent, a mixture of rough walls and a wide variety of textured fabrics, most of them soft and touchable, and it somehow suited him. The flickering light of the candles cast a warm glow over the room, and across the sheets of his big bed.

EDITED

"No," he whispered. But he didn't try to tug her hands away. He just used his voice. "Don't cover yourself. Don't hide, love. Let me see you."

She let her hands fall to her sides, where they clutched at the sheets, instead. She had to hold on tight to – something. 

"God, look at you." That wonderful voice was hushed, almost reverent, as his eyes flowed over her body. "You're like sunlight made flesh. Like all my dreams of you."

She reached for his hand, moving to bring it to her face. "Did you dream of me?"

~*~

"Did you dream of me?"

Sonofa…

The intense pain that tore through him at the words caught him by totally by surprise, catching in his throat, his chest, twisting in his gut. He didn't have a bloody clue how he kept from crying out. He'd just mentioned dreaming of her. Why did _her_ voice saying the words do – _this?_

_Falling. She was falling. He couldn't get to her, couldn't stop it, couldn't save her. Her body crashed to the ground, close, so close to his own. So close. A few feet, no more. The sound of the impact would never stop echoing in his mind. The sound of death. **Her** death. And he just lay there, useless, worthless. Fucking worthless. He just lay there and watched her die.  _

_"Did you dream of me?"_

_To the edge of sanity. Maybe beyond._

"Spike?"

He kept his reaction from showing on his face. He knew he did. More than a century of practice sometimes paid off. Didn't even clench his jaw or make a fist. He just tried to swallow the screaming pain in his throat. _Never show pain. Ever. Not any kind of pain. Pain was a weakness and weaknesses could be turned against you. He'd lost it a few times over the summer, had, like a bloody fool, revealed things he never should have allowed anyone to see. He hated himself for the weapons he'd handed over, to the Watcher, to his Slayer's little pals. That they hadn't used them yet didn't mean they wouldn't._

His eyes fell away from her, lingering on his hand, watching as his fingers closed over the slight swell of her hip. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Some –" his voice cracked a little, and, after a second, he gave up trying to finish the word. 

Echoes of emptiness.

_A phantom presence coming to him in his crypt. Soft hands, delicate touch tracing over muscle and sinew, making him ache with loneliness and pleasure. Words he couldn't make out being whispered into his throat, followed by his own pleas as she started to dissolve into nothingness. Please, love, stay. Stay here with me. Stay. _

_She never did. _

_"Did you dream of me?"_

_Endlessly._

Remembered agonies. Push them away, push them down, cloak them.

She was here now. 

_Alive._

_Buffy._

"Spike?" Her hand slid into his hair. "I'm here now," she murmured his thoughts to him, and raised herself up to kiss him.   

He took her mouth, lost himself in the taste of her, took comfort in her flavor. _Solace. _Had she heard the pain in his voice? Don't… _don't…Her kiss eased him, drawing his pain out of his throat… __Buffy. He sank his hands into her hair, held her head, turned it just a little. His tongue found hers, tangled with it, sucked it back into his own mouth. __Don't…_

**_Don't…_**

_Don't be so bloody stupid! _

EDITED

Do that. Just that. Show her you can… That you can be more than…

"I still do," he murmured, his voice stronger. "Dream of you." There were only waking dreams now. Fantasies. Bloody good ones. She's here. Look at her. 

EDITED

His eyes fell closed.

_Buffy._

"Like this," he murmured, his eyes opening again to drift over her. "Laying across these sheets, here on my bed."

~*~

"Like this. Laying across these sheets, here on my bed."

His voice was like dark velvet, smooth and sinful.

He raised one of her hands and brought it to his mouth, bending his head to press a kiss into her palm. Oh, she liked that more every time he did it. He looked at her from under his lashes, and she caught her breath at the expression in his eyes, the wicked promise.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, love. So good."

When he released her hand she pressed it to his chest, and stroked it over the male breast, feeling the tight nub of his nipple. She moved it on up, along his neck and then slid her fingers into his hair again, tugging him down to her.

He resisted a little, and shifted his body before lowering his mouth to hers, so that none of his weight came down on her body.

His kiss was long and deep, and he lifted his mouth just long enough to reassure her. "I won't pin you down, Buffy… won't make you feel – trapped – in any way."

Warmth flared inside her at his words, at the consideration behind them. It hadn't occurred to her that she might feel uncomfortable or panicky under his body, and she was surprised he'd thought of it.

EDITED

Buffy felt him move, and when she was breathing normally and had managed to open her eyes, he was lying next to her, his still fully clothed body pressed closely to the length of hers. She tried to force her eyes to focus.

"Why are you wearing so many clothes?" she asked dazedly.

"I'm jes' seein' to my lady," he told her quietly. "Tonight, all night. Just takin' care of you."

"You're…? But…"

"Let me do this for you, love."

There was something in his voice, some odd inflection that made her study his solemn eyes carefully. She didn't know what it was, or why he wanted to deny himself and concentrate on her, but she could see that it was somehow important to him, held some significance she couldn't quite capture and he didn't intend to share.

As she watched, his eyes changed, glinting. "I'm big on anticipation, pet."

She followed his lead. "_You?_ Anticipation? Mr. Jump the Gun? Mr. Abandon Well Laid Plans 'Cause You Got Bored?_ That_ you?"

He shrugged, lips curving. "Didn't say I was always good at it. Jes' sayin' as a concept…"

Her sound of amusement trailed off into an 'ummm…' of pleasure as he lifted himself, and pressed his face to the soft curve of her abdomen. He nuzzled her there for long minutes, and her hands threaded through his hair, sending the once carefully groomed strands into further disarray. 

"Roll over," he instructed, rising to his knees. Did she have a backbone? Buffy wondered as she obeyed him without question. He straddled her, still without putting any real weight on her, and then, oh god, she knew she had one, because he was massaging it, and it felt, oh, _perfect…_

"Oooh," she moaned, and it was an entirely different kind of moan. "Yummm." The brief massage earlier, in the cemetery, had been wonderful, but this… This could become seriously addictive. Ooh! They could get some oils, and…

"I'll pick up some oils, love," he said. "Give you a rub down after we work out."

"Nooo."

"No?"

"Not at the Magic Box." Her voice was muffled by the sheets.

"No? Afraid it might lead to something else? Something your Watcher would be shocked to walk in on?"

"Wouldn't it?"

"It could at that," he agreed.

~*~

Strong, smooth strokes of his hands over her shoulders, down her spine, along the slender lines of her back. She had a beautiful back, he thought. He ran his fingers over every vertebra, tracing the curves of her shoulder blades, the dip near her waist, the tender flow from waist to hip on her sides. He loved her hips. His hands sought them constantly, and he fantasized about them more than any other part of her body, with the possible exception of her mouth.

_EDITED_

_Anticipation is good, he told himself again._ Probably builds character or some sodding thing like that. __

He was working the muscles in the backs of her thighs now, and he took pleasure from feeling how boneless she'd gone under his massaging hands, how utterly relaxed she was. 

"You could make a living at this," she murmured.

"As a masseuse?" he responded, humor lacing his tone. "Or as something else?" 

EDITED

Wouldn't want her _too_ relaxed. He had plans…

"Oooh." Her body jumped a little. Maybe she was anticipating a few things herself. "Either."

"Rather be on an exclusive retainer, love."

"I don't think I can afford you."

"Slayers get bargain prices, didn't you know?"

He lifted a leg and began to work her calf. 

"Oooh," she approved again. "I'll check my budget."

Gradually, he worked his way back up her legs, over the curves of her bottom to her lower back. He put a little more pressure on, massaging deeply. He bent to her, and as his hands slid up her back, his mouth touched the base of her spine. Inch by inch, his mouth moved over the slim expanse of her back, trailing faithfully after his hands. Over her shoulders, down her sides, blunt teeth nipping at her hip, then at one rounded cheek. 

Her hips began to rock very slightly against the bed. _Ohhh__, getting hungry._

"Buffy," he said, very quietly. "Roll over again…"

~*~

Spike was leaning back against the headboard, and she was in his arms, her back against his chest, as she sat between his spread legs. His right arm was wrapped loosely across her upper chest, his hand curling around her left bicep. 

EDITED

The velvet warmth of her skin was a revelation to him, a source of wonder and intoxication.

It had taken a bit of time, but somewhere during the massage and what came after, she'd seemed to grow comfortable with the fact that he was still fully clothed and she was without a stitch. When they'd sat up, she'd made a vane and very half hearted attempt at modesty by pulling the top sheet up over her legs. But it was pooled somewhere around her hips now, and she wasn't reaching for it. He was glad too, almost hypnotized by the way her skin was glistening in the candlelight. He watched the patterns the flickering light sent dancing over her flesh, and sent a finger to follow some of them. 

"I don't think I have any bones left," she murmured. The drowsy contentment in her voice ran all through him. 

Her head was resting back against his shoulder, her eyes half closed. She'd curled one of her hands over his forearm, and her fingers were moving in tiny little patterns against his skin.

Spike laid his restless hand over her abdomen, letting it linger there, as his thumb lightly traced circles around her navel.

"You're so beautiful, Buffy. Your skin… Mmmm. Soft."

"Baby oil."

He rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Still effective, even when you're a big girl," she said lightly.

"You're not a girl," he told her. Didn't she know? "You're a woman. Woman's mind and body. A woman's power." He turned his head and brushed his lips against the side of her neck. "That girl I first saw dancing in the Bronze four years ago is all grown up now, love."

"Mmmm."

"She did it right, too," he approved. "Obviously knew what she was about."

They lounged in near silence, comfortable together. Occasionally, one of them made some quiet inconsequential comment, meaningless and soon forgotten.

Inevitably, his stroking hand changed its tune of intimate discovery to one of desire. Buffy's little gasps and catches of breath acknowledged the new melody. 

"You might be tired of being 'Gasp-O-Rama Girl', but the kind of gasps you're making right now? I could listen to them for hours and hours." He nuzzled her against her neck, encouraging her to drop her head back. He went on, whispering into her throat as his lips and tongue found a pulse point and lingered. "Want to. Intend to. Will."

EDITED

~*~

A light sheen of sweat still lay over her body, but her breathing had finally slowed. She stretched before curling against him again, replete. 

"Mmmm." The satisfied sound emerged from somewhere in her throat. Her foot began running up and down his calf, pushing the denim of his jeans with her toes. 

"Um, earlier?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanted to know how to touch me?" she reminded him, biting the flesh of his shoulder lightly. "Well, ah, don't forget that one."

"There is not a bleedin' chance in hell of me ever forgetting _that, Slayer," he promised. "Trust me."_

~*~

Dawn was almost upon them, and he'd had to rush back to his crypt right quick after walking her home. She'd protested that she didn't need his escort, but he'd stared her down, and ignored her protests. She hadn't even done a lot of wall building on the way home, rather to his surprise. Maybe orgasms released some chemical in the brain that made brick laying difficult. If so, she shouldn't be capable of building any walls for at least a month. Now, if he could just keep that chemical at a heightened level…

Spike lit a cigarette, staring at the bed. Even over the smoke he could smell her. The air was heavy with her scent. There were traces of her perfume, yeah, but stronger than that, and much better, the scent of _her, her body, her desire, her musk._

EDITED

Her body, stretched out in the flickering candle light, shadows playing across her flesh. No sunbathing since she'd come back; he could see that her skin was too pale for that. But still, alongside his, it retained a golden sheen, almost matching the sheets. 

_Burn the image into your mind, _he told himself._ Burn it deep. Might never see that again. _

_EDITED_

_Will that be enough for you, mate? To have that and no more?_

I have more. We have more. Could feel it. Something deeper. Something _more._

_You know she doesn't love you._

Not yet.

_Never will._

Could. Someday.

_Wanker._

It's right this time. Something's changed. It's right. 've felt it. Ever since she came back.

_You're beneath her._

I can change. I can be good.

_Demons don't change._

I can. I'm stronger than the bloody demon. 

_Who's stronger? William?_

Me. Spike.

_Spike **is the demon.**_

No. Not just. There's more to me. An' I can be more yet. For _her._

_Think she'll buy that? Or will she figure out that you're just mouthing the words so she'll let you under her skirts?_

That's not why. I was already changing. Before the tower…

_Same reason._

…and after. Before she came back. Was already changing. Weren't any skirts to get under then, were there?

_Chip._

It's not the sodding, goddamn, bloody chip. It's _me_. 

_You? William the Bloody? You're delusional._

Maybe. But I can still fucking do this. So sod off.

_You might be able to suppress the demon for awhile, but it will never last. Blood will out. And the minute you slip, she'll dust you. She's the bloody Slayer._

Sod. Off.

_Killed Angelus, didn't she? And she **loved** **him…**_

"Sod off!"

The angry shout echoed around the chamber.

She felt something for him. She _did_. He could feel it in her. In himself. There was something between them. Sometimes it almost overwhelmed him, the sure certainty that they would be together, that she would be his. That she _was_ his. Sometimes he thought he could feel her _inside_ him. Flowing through his veins like blood. 

Then he'd try to pull back from it, to deny it even to himself. Couldn't happen. Not really. Not with him. She was the Slayer, and human, and he wasn't, and nothing that good could ever _really_ happen. It must be some kind of self-delusional fantasy/insanity, and he'd be a bloody fool to let himself get too caught up in it. 

Spike paced around the room, coming to a halt near a dresser that held most of his possessions. He reached for the bottle of bourbon atop it and poured himself a healthy tumbler full.

Just enjoy what's happening now. He eyed the bed again. She _does feel something. Bird like her, you know she doesn't give it up for anyone. Aside from her ill advised liaison with that soddin' frat boy, she'd been pretty selective. Couldn't always figure her taste, __great, hulking lummoxes, but still… __And there's damned well something there. The night had been more than exciting. It had been relaxed, easy, warm. _Familiar. _Nothing cold and uncaring. She hadn't just been looking for a good ride, a physical release. And that sure as hell hadn't been all he'd wanted to give her._

It hurt, having to hold so much back from her. Sometimes he could actually taste it, like something caught in his throat; the need to pour everything he was feeling onto her. The incredible intensity of his feelings, all his hopes and dreams, his fantasies of mattering to her. Really _mattering. Of being _the one_ – partner, lover, mate. _

And he knew he couldn't. Not yet. Maybe never. Knew it was better to guard every thing he said, every action. _Don't let her see. Don't open yourself like that… Don't give her things to use against you, bleeding weapons of mass destruction…_

Hope and fear warred within him. Both strong. Both fierce.

_One day at a time. Don't look past that. Take every minute you can get, and hold on to it. Don't even close your eyes if you can help it, because it won't last, can't. Not with you. She's the Slayer. And this is all too bleeding good to be true._

Spike drained his glass, and stared at the bed, drawing deeply on his cigarette. _You just spent a bloody fantastic night with her. Grab that. Don't muck everything up with some sodding fantasy involving a bloody white picket fence. It is what it is. You are, she is, and together, who the hell knows what you are, what's to come? Can't know. Maybe can't change whatever is to be no matter what you do. Enjoy the bloody ride._

Spike crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the bedside table, and stretched out across the pale golden sheets that blended so well with the black, gold and deep red bedding he and Dawn had chosen when they'd redecorated. Her scent was stronger on the sheets. 

_Buffy. _

EDITED

~*~

_"You can never change what you are, my darling boy."_

_"It's your fault, yours. You incompetent scum, you worthless, soulless demon. She's dead because of you. You're responsible." The Watcher and Harris advanced on him with stakes raised to strike. His arms were pinned behind him in a relentless hold. He struggled to break free, twisting around to see what it was that held him so tightly. It was Dawn, her eyes glittering with malicious hatred..._

_"They're right. You can try, but you'll always be scum to her, and she'll always push you back into the dirt. A worthless, soulless demon." His sire giggled, running her hands possessively over his chest. "Just how I like you. How I made you. You're a bad, bad, boy." _

_EDITED_

_"You're beneath her, my Spike. You'll always be beneath her. And that's not where you belong. You belong here, beneath **me**."_

_Dru's__ less than sane laughter shimmered in the air around him. _

_EDITED_

_"Buffy." Was he calling for help? "Buffy."_

_Dru slashed her nails across his chest, and her face morphed as she leaned down to lick at the blood that oozed out of the cuts._

_"You promised me," she reminded him. She dipped a finger into the deepest of the gashes she'd made on his chest, just over his heart, and raised it to her mouth, licking the blood with delight. _

_EDITED_

_"You promised me we'd bathe in her blood, my wicked boy, and mummy will. I will, my love, I'll bathe in her blood…"_

~*~


	10. Awakenings Chapter Ten

Journeys by Mary 

~*~

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love. 

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

****

**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

See notes, etc. preceding Chapter One. 

**Chapter Ten**

After a horrible start, the day was shaping up very nicely.

When she'd fallen into bed this morning at about 5:00, she'd felt terrible. Drunk or stoned. She didn't have enough experience with either one to tell the difference, if there was one. But she definitely felt like she'd overdosed on something. She'd felt weak and out of control, which she hated, and pretty darn sick to her stomach on top of that. 

She should never have gone. Never.

She should be smarter than that. She was, wasn't she? Smart? She'd always been 4.0 plus girl, and that hadn't changed. And she was demon smart, too. She'd been working with Buffy – the Slayer – for more than five years. So she was pretty demon savvy. Not just any old demon could pull the wool over Willow Rosenberg's eyes. Nosiree. You had to get up preeetty early in the morning…

He'd heard of her.

That had surprised her, and sent a little thrill of pleasure through her. She remembered how Buffy had been all kind of 'Oooh, Dracula said he'd heard of me', when they'd met the famous vampire. She'd thought it was kind of lame at the time, but now she thought she understood how Buffy had been feeling. 

_He'd heard of her._

He'd seemed so understanding the other night, when they met on the street. Rack. He really seemed to 'get' that the others didn't understand her, didn't support her, that she only wanted what was best for them. He'd told her that was often the case when someone who was meant to have power started to acquire it. People were wary, they didn't understand, and being humans, they tended to want to control what they didn't understand. 

Because they feared it. And if they claimed that their concerns stemmed from anything other than fear, they lied. 

Rack had explained that when a new power started to bloom in town, there were others who could sense it, and he'd been sent by one of them. He didn't go into any detail about who this mysterious someone was, referring to him only as 'The Grey'. 'The Grey' had sensed her, had felt her growing powers, and had sent him, Rack, to check her out. Willow, immersed in reading 'The Lord of the Rings' for the fifth time as prep for the upcoming film trilogy, had immediately thought of Gandalf, and had envisioned some elderly wizard, powerful and wise, his robes billowing about him as he decided to send an emissary to her so that he could learn more about her.

Which was really pretty darn nifty when you thought about it.

Still…

She never should have taken him up on his invitation to visit him, to talk more, and perhaps, to begin and exploration of her power. No matter how understanding he'd been, no matter that he'd known things about her, that he'd… She never should have taken a risk like that. She'd been perfectly well aware that he wasn't human – he hadn't tried to hide that – and, well, demons were inherently evil, weren't they? And a big honkin' 'No!' on the trustworthiness. Even if they did say flattering things about you, and seemed to understand parts of you that your closest friends just didn't seem to get.

Yeah, she should have been smarter than that.

And this was her stupid punishment for taking that stupid chance. Sick, drunk or something, completely **out of control. What if she'd acquired some illness and that's why she felt so horrible? **

And she'd even let him…

Oh, god.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Even bemoaning her recklessness, sick and shaking with fear and regret, Willow was asleep half an hour after stumbling into bed. 

When she woke up at 10:00, her whole perspective changed. Radically. She felt energized. In fact, she felt unbelievably great. Strong. Very strong.

**Powerful.******

And she was. Powerful. 

Full. Of. Power. 

She could practically feel it crackling under her skin. It felt hot and deep and it was running through her veins, pumping through them, riding her circulatory system right along with her blood, piggybacking on every corpuscle.

So, yeah, the day way shaping up very nicely, indeed. It was late afternoon now, and the wonderful sense of well being, and the rush of something much deeper – invincibility? omnipotence? – hadn't dissipated at all. In fact, it seemed to have increased. So had the feelings of power. The nausea and the drunken feelings were completely gone. Her head felt clear, as though she was seeing things from a slightly different vantage point. A stronger place. A _higher place._

It was all – amazing. And utterly intoxicating in a totally **_in_ control way.**

Only resurrecting Buffy had been a bigger rush than this. That had been the ultimate, and Willow knew instinctively that, no matter how long she lived, the resurrection would always be the most exciting, the most wonderful thing she'd ever done – bringing her friend back to life, saving her from the torments of hell.

It had been worth anything… _everything._ She would never, could never regret the steps she'd taken, the decisions she'd made in order to save her friend from that terrible fate.

She'd _felt_ power greater than this before – during both the resurrection and the re-ensoulment spell she'd used on Angel. And although this wasn't as strong, it was, in some ways, more – interesting. It felt _different_, in a way she couldn't quite define.

But she knew she liked it. 

Oh, yeah. She liked it _a lot._

She could almost hear the voices whispering in her head, telling her that _this was what she'd been seeking, __this was what she needed. What she was made for._

_"Someone who was meant to have power," Rack had said._

_"Meant."___

Like – destined. 

_Her.__ The __sidekick. _

Power.

_Control.___

Finally, _real_ control.

Buffy, Giles, Tara. They'd all fallen in line today. Effortlessly.

Suggest to hide-in-her-room-and-don't-talk-to-anyone Buffy that the housemates have a movie night tonight – just the four of them? _Sure. Sounds great, Will. We need to spend a lot more time together._

Deliver the most basic first draft of the long overdue resurrection spell to Giles without any of the accompanying documentation he'd been demanding? _Thank you, __Willow__. This shall be a great help. I'm sorry for harping on it so._

Smile, and ask Tara to give up this silly sleeping on the sofa stuff and come back to their bed where she belonged? _Shy smiles, soft hands, hungry, loving mouth._

Oh yeah, this was exactly what she'd been seeking.

And she liked it. 

A lot.

Willow walked into the living room, debating how many candles she should magic up to give the room just the right mixture of glowy romance and family fun for the evening ahead. 

Miss Kitty Fantastico eyed her from her usual perch on the back of the sofa, wide eyes blinking curiously. Willow reached out to her casually as she moved past.

"Hey, Miss Kitty. How are you today?"

The cat hissed loudly and scrambled to her feet, her back arching in warning. Willow stopped moving and she and the cat stared at each other for a long moment before Miss Kitty leapt from the sofa and flew up the stairway. Willow watched her go.

"Stupid cat," she muttered.

~*~

Emily looked up when Dawn entered the shop.

"Hello, dear. How are you?"

"I'm good. You?"

"Swamped with work, and wondering how I can possibly survive through the rest of the holiday season, but otherwise, I'm doing fine!" Emily treated her to her usual warm smile. "Are you Christmas shopping?"

"Please! It cannot be time to Christmas shop yet! I have no money." There was a faint wail in her voice.

"Then, of course, I'm sure the holidays will wait for you to save up."

"That would be so cooperative of them," Dawn smiled. "No, I just need a birthday card for a friend." Emily always seemed to be in a good mood. It was nice to hang around with someone who didn't seem to be full of all kinds of emotional ups and downs, which seemed to pretty much describe everyone she knew right now. "You _do_ have the nicest ones in town."

"We have some great local artists," Emily said. "I'm extremely fortunate that some of them have agreed to do limited edition or one of a kind cards for me." 

"Oh, I can't afford the art cards," Dawn groused. "But the others are nice, too."

"And how did _your _art show go?" Emily asked as she continued to open boxes of silk flower stems and fit them into the aluminum flower cans that she used to display them.

"Not bad." Dawn picked up another card and looked it over. "My charcoal drawing got a first place, and my watercolor a second. The oil painting didn't even get an honorable mention. I have no idea why Ms. Nimue thought it should be included, but she picked all the pieces, so…"

The school district art show had actually gone pretty well, considering it was held in the high school gymnasium, which, to Dawn's way of thinking, was just asking for trouble. But, if you didn't count Spike, who had come with Buffy and Tara, the night had been demon free. Or at least free of any demons causing trouble. Willow had had to work the evening of the main reception, so she'd dropped in earlier in the day, and even Xander and Anya had stopped in briefly before doing some wedding shopping. All in all, it had been of the good.

"Not every piece is going to win something, and it's good for you to experiment in different mediums. But a first and a second! That's wonderful. I've told you before, luv, you have a lot of talent. I hope you stick with it."

"That _is_ the plan."

"How's everything at home?" Emily asked a few minutes later. "Okay?"

_Well, if you don't count one of the witches I live with putting a spell on me, Spike, my sister, and my sister's friends, by mistake – well, partly anyway – and giving us all amnesia – including herself... And that one of the results of that seems to be that __Tara__ and _Willow___ are barely speaking, and that __Tara__ is sleeping on the sofa now, which I am so trying to pretend isn't happening..._

"Oh, you know, just the usual. And I'm completely without funds right now. I'm trying to save for a new set of really good brushes. I think I'd be more successful if I didn't have so many friends with birthdays in the last three months."

Not too many months ago, Dawn would have been staking out the art supply store, trying to figure out the best way to smuggle the coveted brushes out under her jacket. But the whole stealing thing? Sooo over it.  Of course, a lot of that was due to the fact that Giles had caught her in the act one night toward the end of the summer. At the Magic Box. It had been one of the most completely humiliating moments of her life. Even though she figured he'd be cool with it, she hadn't even wanted Spike to know. She tried to tell herself it was because she didn't want him to know she'd been stealing, but she was kinda afraid it was really because she didn't want him to know she'd been _caught. And by __Giles._

She'd been terrified, too, that Giles would tell the others, but he had told her he wouldn't tell anyone if she agreed to stop forthwith. She thought that meant right away. He had also docked a dollar an hour from her paycheck for the last three months, as an estimated payback, but he hadn't even told Anya about that. Dawn didn't tell him that that wasn't nearly enough. Guiltily, she tried to work harder while she was there to sort of make up for the rest.

Dawn swallowed, remembering the fear that had gripped her at the thought of her stealing being revealed to Willow and Tara, and Xander and Anya. They would all _know_. They would look at her differently, and they would see her, inside her. They would start to wonder about her, about her past, about the things they'd heard… about Glory and her ties with her…what she'd been… 

Dawn pushed away the memory. It hadn't happened. Giles hadn't said anything, and the others didn't know. They weren't looking at her differently, wondering about her. She was safe. _For now._ And if she was careful…

Since she'd come back, Buffy seemed to be spending a lot of time with Spike, almost like they were friends now. Dawn was pretty sure that Spike was patrolling with Buffy a lot of the time, they were training together at the Magic Box, and her sister hadn't raised any objections to him sitting out on the roof every night, either. Maybe…maybe being in heaven had changed some things in her sister, in how she felt, what she thought, in _how she thought… Maybe she wasn't quite so hung up on – stuff – anymore. Maybe she was willing to look more at what people were _now_, not what they had been…_

Dawn gripped the card in her hand so tightly that she creased it. Damn. Now she'd have to buy it, and she'd really liked the other one better. She glanced at Emily, and back at the cards, debating. Emily had been a good friend to her, she really liked her… Dawn sighed, knowing she'd buy the creased card.

Buffy had been treating her a little differently, too. Lots of times now she even acted like … like maybe like she… _liked her or something. Okay, sisters. She got that. She supposed she'd always known that Buffy loved her. But it had mostly seemed to be in that obscure __'we're sisters, but I don't ever want to be seen in public with you' kind of way. Dawn was pretty sure she'd experienced more 'togetherness' moments with Buffy since she'd been resurrected than in all the rest of their lives together. She'd always felt like she was some gawky, clumsy pest, plaguing her oh-so-cool sister's life. The other night, Buffy had said she was starting to feel more like her old self. Dawn hoped that didn't mean things would be back like – before. When Buffy would look at her like she was some kind of huge – problem – or something. Since their dad had pulled the great disappearing act, Buffy was her only real family, and she… _

Dawn's lips twisted, as she reminded herself that she didn't have any real family. Not _real_ family. You had to _be_ real for that and she…

_… wasn't._

The familiar icy cold feeling – which she'd figured out was about an equal mixture of worry, pain, and sheer, blinding terror – ran  through her. She should be used to this by now. It had been happening for months and months, ever since she'd found out she wasn't real, that she was just some fake _thing…_

Dawn's eyes fell closed, and she clenched her fists. _Easy, Dawn,_ she told herself. _Just take it easy. It doesn't matter where you start out…_

Slowly, Dawn wandered over to the display of Flower Fairies Emily had shown her the first night Spike brought her here. The display was considerably larger and more elaborate than it had been last summer. It had begun to attract a lot of customers, too; people who heard about it, stopped in to see it, and stayed to shop and buy. Dawn loved the enchanted little world Emily had created, and she'd been excited when Emily had asked her for a few suggestions on the display. But when she'd actually asked her to start helping with it… That had been totally 'Eeek! Wow! Me?' stuff. Everything in it was sorta delicate, and Dawn liked that Emily didn't think she was too klutzy to be trusted handling the little fairies or their surroundings. 

It was a great place to avoid reality, to lose herself. Sometimes Dawn thought she used it almost like a drug.

She touched a couple of the twiggy vines, adjusting their positions slightly. Gradually, the display started to work its magic on her. Within a few minutes, she had set aside the creased card and her school bag and started making a bigger adjustment to the positioning of one of the fairies. It should be just a bit more hidden, she thought, peeking out through those leaves… there, just like that… Now she needed to get some of that sticky green gummy stuff, and use a little to make sure things didn't shift around too much…

"Perfect," Emily said from behind her. "You have a great eye, Dawn."

Dawn turned her head, smiling. "Thanks. I still can't believe you let me help with it."

"I've been thinking about that a lot," Emily said.

"About me helping with the fairies?" Dawn was confused. "Did I, um, mess something up?" Her eyes swept over the large display, looking for problems.

"No," Emily smiled. "Not at all. It's just… I know you work at the Magic Box, but I've decided I really need to hire some help. At least on Saturdays. You and I get along pretty well, and I know you're very familiar with the merchandise." She tipped her head to the side. "I'd like to hire _you, but I don't want my name to be mud with Anya and Mr. Giles. If I'm out of line trying to lure you away from them, just let me know."_

Dawn's eyes lit up. "Me? Really?" She loved this store, and working here would be great. Not that she disliked the Magic Box or Anya and Giles or anything. But she thought that Enchantment Floral & Gift offered a little more in the way of creativity for her artistic leanings. Or it might, anyway. The fairy display, and the other normal store type displays, and flower arranging, and maybe, just maybe, she could sell some of her drawings, or create some of her own cards. Plus, she really did like Emily a lot. 

Dawn had never forgotten that Emily didn't complete freak or look at her like _she_ was a freak, when she discovered her dead sister was suddenly alive again. She'd tried to give Emily some totally lame excuse that Giles had come up with, _blah, blah, blah, mistaken identity, hospitalized up the coast, blah, double blah. _It had sounded like something from a soap opera. Did he still watch those? she wondered. But Emily didn't seem very interested in that part of it. She'd just sorta did this eyebrow-raising thingy, like the reappearance of formerly dead family members was almost boring, or at least happened all the time, and didn't ask any questions. 

And, oh, another good point? Emily liked Spike. Which was kinda weird when you thought about it. She was pretty sure Emily knew what Spike was, even though they'd never actually talked about it, and Emily seemed to treat him like a normal person. Not talking about things came really close to being an art form in Sunnydale. Dawn figured she already had a master's degree in _that _particular art. Maybe, since Spike had saved her life, Emily didn't care that he wasn't exactly human. Or – er, when it came right down to it, even alive. She'd been kinda surprised that Spike brought her here to visit and hang out, and that he seemed to kinda like Emily, too. Well, maybe 'like' wasn't the right word. But he didn't completely ignore her, and, for Spike, especially while Buffy had been – gone – that had been saying a lot. 

Dawn groaned inwardly.  Sometimes, _she_ thought she was a freak, her life was so completely weird. So it was a pretty big deal when she found someone who seemed to know a lot about her and still looked at her like maybe she was okay anyway.

Lots of times, there just seemed to be these big bouldery, um, rocks – _oh,_ _What__. Ever. _– of not-normalness sitting around in her life. Not that all of them were bad or anything. Like Spike. She loved Spike. And she would want him to be a part of her life no matter what. Even if having a vampire as a sort of brother/best friend didn't rate real high on the normal scale. And living with witches? That was okay, too. Well, most of the time, anyway. Willow had freaked her a little once in a while in the last few months, but she'd known Willow like, forever, and figured things would seem easier with her again soon. And Tara was totally cool. Having a sister who was the Slayer, and had been brought back from the dead, er, a couple of times? She could mostly deal with that. Um, most of the time. The green glowy energy thing, though? Harder, and the cause of a few more nightmares, and…

Maybe being normal was waaay overrated.

"Really," Emily assured her. "I can't pay a lot, of course. But I'll do my very best to beat the Magic Box by a dollar or so an hour." She glanced at Dawn's eager face. "A dollar fifty an hour more," she amended. "How does that sound?"

Dawn's eyes were huge, lit up with excitement. Then she hesitated.

"Um, I'd have to ask Buffy," she confessed. "And she'd want to meet you and, er – stuff."

"She'd want to check the place out. Check me out, too, I imagine." Emily seemed completely understanding. "Bring her by. We'll talk." She winked. "See if I pass muster."

_She did understand!_ _Another_ reason she liked Emily so much.

~*~

_Things were going okay._

Buffy looked around quickly, wondering if she'd just committed the dreaded mistake of thinking something positive, which was usually a sure way to bring about instant misery, followed by likely mayhem. Nothing around them changed. The sun kept shining, the giant worm monsters from 'Tremors' didn't explode out of the middle of the street, and nothing jumped out at them from the shops they were walking by. Maybe the jinx thingy only kicked in if you actually spoke out loud. 

The list of things going okay _was_ kind of impressive, though. Memory working; check. She and Dawn getting along; check. Tentative re-establishment of Slayer/Watcher bonds underway; check. Former best friend making the wonderful suggestion that the housemates have a movie evening at home tonight to help re-establishment of _their_ strained relationship; check.

Why hadn't she thought of that, Buffy wondered? It was such a simple idea, and perfect really. An easy night at home, just the four of them – Willow, Buffy, Tara and Dawn. She already felt relaxed with Dawn and mostly relaxed with Tara, so sliding Willow into the mix should be something she could easily handle without drawing into herself as she'd been doing so much since her return. It was a good step. She quite distinctly remembered thinking about the whole situation between her and her old friends often in the middle of the night, telling herself that tomorrow she would start rebuilding relationships. Tomorrow and tomorrow and again with the tomorrow. Well, enough of putting it off, delaying things. Let the re-bonding commence. Tonight. 

Willow was a wise, wise woman.

She, Willow and Tara had just been beginning dinner when Dawn came home all excited about the possibilities of a new job, and begged Buffy to come with her immediately to meet the potential employer. Buffy had looked to Willow for a decision, and the redhead had just smiled, telling them to go on; that she and Tara would take care of dinner. Which was kind of too bad. Willow had been going to show her a spell to make the salad dressing, and that would have been totally cool. 

Why hadn't she ever tried magic before? Buffy wondered. Hmmm. Good question. She'd have to talk to Giles. Maybe she could learn some spells to kill demons from a distance. Oooh! She'd never have to deal with those pesky blood stains on her clothes again. Major plus.  

Dawn seemed to be kind of big on _normal_ lately. It slipped into conversations on a fairly regular basis. So Buffy assured Dawn that it was _one hundred percent **normal**_for her to meet Emily. Their mom had wanted to meet Ken and Lauren, the couple who owned the restaurant Buffy had waitressed at back in L.A. Well, strictly speaking she hadn't actually waitressed. She had bussed tables. But she had been working her way up to waitressing, until that whole incident with that Julibeidira? Julbiredia? Buffy shrugged. Until that Julbie-type demon had wanted to order her meal off the employee roster rather than the menu, forcing Buffy to kill her, which had resulted in Buffy getting fired. She'd also been grounded for a month by their totally unsympathetic mom. Buffy didn't think it was necessary to tell Dawn that part of the story.

Even now, um, er, lots of years later, she was pretty sure, it still seemed unfair to Buffy that she'd gotten fired for trying to save people's lives. What was up with that, anyway?

Dawn knew enough about life in Sunnydale to understand that Buffy would be looking for slightly different things in this meeting with Emily than their mom had been looking for when she'd vetted Ken and Lauren. Not – is this an honest person who will treat my sister with respect, but – is this a demon who will try to eat her the first time the moon goes into a new phase? Or even sooner?

This Emily person. Dawn really liked her. But the things she'd been told about her? Nobody was in that good a mood all the time. Or was that nice. It reminded her a little of Mayor Wilkins. So checking Emily Huggins out had definitely taken on a high priority. Slayerly/sisterly duties combined into one meet and greet.

She'd considered asking Willow or Tara to come up with some magic demon detector thingy. Something that she could just point at Dawn's potential boss and it would beep or something if there was anything even a little not-human about her. But there really hadn't been any time, and they'd been busy with dinner, anyway.

Buffy frowned. Tara had been upset about something to do with magic, hadn't she? What had it been? Had she been jealous of Willow's power, had that been it? She wasn't sure. Buffy felt a momentary sense of panic that she might be forgetting things again, but a quick run through her mind seemed to suggest most of her memories were accessible. She shrugged. It couldn't have been that important. Will and Tara had certainly seemed to be getting along just fine this afternoon. They'd been making with all the touchy-feely-smoochie stuff in the kitchen. 

Anyway, no demon detector necessitated a good old fashioned checking out of this Emily person to see if she had an aversion to sunlight, or kept elaborate and detailed track of the phases of the moon on her calendar, or could unload her delivery truck by lifting the front end and dumping the contents out the open back doors or something else that generally suggested Not. Human. Oh, and if she could get a look in her refrigerator, that would also be helpful.

It would have been handy to be able to bring Spike along, have him find some way to hit Emily if she thought there was anything questionable about her. But Emily would probably object to that, and change her mind about giving Dawn a job, which would make the whole undercover demon detection visit a waste of time. Spike might not want to chance the headache either. Besides, Dawn said Spike liked Emily. Spike liking Emily might be a bit odd, but it wasn't necessarily reassuring in and of itself. But Spike trusting her with Dawn _was._

The guy was almost scarily protective of her sister, and Buffy had certainly come to believe that his instincts about Dawn were ones she would be wise to follow.

_Spike.___

**_Spike._****__**

Oh, god. Spike.

She'd been drowning in him.

Every touch of his hands, his mouth, everything he'd done had been so… perfect. God, the _pleasure. __The unbelievable, mind-blowing pleasure. The whole night had been so… She'd never experienced anything like it, and she'd been awash in memories of it ever since. She wanted a repeat, and more._

If she could just get him to kiss her breasts again – even that. Her body tightened. He had the most amazing mouth. It did things to her… 

And that thumb. Oh. My. God. 

He'd been wearing a thumb ring, and it had… Oh. God. Buffy stopped walking, her face flushing. She could feel heat building in her body, tension coiling. She could feel... 

"Buffy?"

Pleasure zinged through her body, almost like an orgasmic aftershock.

"Hey, older sister!"

_Thumb._ Ring.__

And again with the Oh. My. God. and the fissions of pleasure.

"Buffy? You're not wigging out or anything, are you?"

Buffy focused on her sister. "Um, no, I'm fine." Her eyes widened guiltily at the hoarseness in her voice. Damn! She cleared her throat. "Fine."

Dawn didn't look convinced, but she dropped it, and started prattling on about her new history teacher again. The old teacher had been the first one to mysteriously disappear this year, and seeing as it was already December, the students were duly impressed with this record. 

Buffy let her sister's voice drift over her and away.

She should be more cautious. She knew she should. But she didn't want to be. _At all. Didn't wanna pull away, pull back, plod along the safe path. She wanted to… She wanted to… _

Damn it. What did she want?

_Him.___

_I want **him.**_

But maybe…_ Maybe she could slow things down a little. Not pull away, but just take a step back. Just a step… He'd understand. She knew he would. Because… Well, because he was Spike. The one who… _

The one who _knew_ her.

The one who _understood _her. __

The one who _belonged_ to her.

And she… she…

Oh, god, what? _What?_

_She knew._

They were going to be together. Sometimes, she could _feel_ it – like a physical _thing – a certainty running through her. It unsettled her, that certainty, made her feel restless and nervous. And excited. _

Slow. Things. Down. 

The whole relationship thing was sooo not her strong suit. And with everything that was going on in her life, the problems and confusion, the aftereffects of dying and being reborn, she knew getting involved with Spike wasn't the sensible thing to be doing, knew she shouldn't be making big decisions like this. Getting involved in a – a _what? __A relationship? That was always a big decision, and with Spike, there were lots of – __other – things that should be considered. Extenuating issues, so to speak. And even putting those aside, her track record in relationships sucked big time. 0 for 2. Or 3. Or 4. Or __whatever. The important part was the big fat zip, zero, nada in the success column._

And telling everyone? Now _that would be a whole heap of 'I don't wanna do this' Buffy fun._

Not only did her track record suck, but, after Angel, she'd been – crippled somehow. Unable or unwilling to lose herself, or, perhaps more importantly, to _find herself, in another relationship. _

Which led, inevitably, to thoughts of Riley, and a different kind of pain. The pain of failure, of trying so hard to, to make it work, to make it be right. And it just – _hadn't_. Been right.

She'd tried to believe their relationship had been good, had been what she needed, wanted. Something normal. A normal guy. Human. And that it had been working. But he hadn't made her forget Angel for a minute. Well, maybe there hadn't been much Angel thinkage during that whole possessed house thing…

Which had been the best sex they'd ever had. The _magically enhanced sex. She felt kinda guilty and disloyal for even thinking such a thing, but… Great sex isn't everything in a relationship, Buffy, she told herself. That produced more guilt as she remembered how often she'd told herself that while she was seeing Riley. It's not that the sex hadn't been… nice. Kinda… warm. And he hadn't gone on a killing spree or turned into a total poophead, as Willow would say, after the first time, so that had definitely been a plus. Sometimes it had even been… cuddly. _

When she hadn't been leaving their bed to hunt vampires, or he hadn't been leaving it to get a suck job from one.

Before she died she'd been giving a lot of thought to her ability to love, so afraid she was losing it… And the whole Riley thing had been a huge contributing factor in that. Xander had tried to tell her that she had shut down after Angel, and that she'd been treating Riley like the rebound guy, when he was the one who came along once in a lifetime.  

Well she couldn't argue that she'd shut down after Angel. She'd known it, never doubted it. She'd loved him so much… Buffy felt the long familiar ache in her chest. Their whole relationship had been so intense, so…

But Riley being the guy who only came only once in a lifetime?

In retrospect, maybe that was a good thing. 

Oh god, there was that guilt thing again. 

_"If what he needs from you just isn't there - for God's sake, let him go. But if it is? If you can go deeper...  Let him get to know that raw, unguarded heart you tried to put away... Maybe you'd better risk something too."_

Xander had thought she should beg Riley to stay. 

_"What am I supposed to do? Beg him to stay?"_

_"Why wouldn't you? To keep Riley here, you wouldn't –" _

_"Why wouldn't you?"_

_"Why wouldn't you?"_

And she'd gone, running, crying out into the night sky. Unheard.

So desperate to hold on. To have someone. To belong to someone, and to have someone who belonged to her. To do what Angel wanted her to do. Have what Angel wanted her to have. A normal, human guy. Someone who could take her into the sun. _Even though she lived in the night._ Someone who could give her children. _Even though she'd never live to see them grow up.__ Someone, maybe, to help her see __herself as normal?_

_"Why wouldn't you?"_

Because he's not what I need…

_…and because I'm not what he needs.__ I'm not, and I can't be._

Things could be difficult and complex. And sometimes they were just that simple. 

For a while she'd thought things were going really well. She'd started opening up to Riley more and more, sharing parts of herself with him. But then something had changed. She'd never been quite certain what it was, but… 

Her life was always going to be so complicated, so messy. 

Riley had told her more than once that he 'got' the whole thing – the Slayer gig, the Buffy package. But for some reason, she'd felt that he didn't get it – didn't get it _at all_. He may have said the right things, but deep down, she'd so often felt like he really wanted her to change, to be _different_, to be not stronger than him, to be _normal._

To not have a complicated, messy life.

To not have _her_ life.

And once the whole Angel thing came up, she knew somewhere inside her that he would never really understand and accept the part the vampire had played in her life; that their relationship would always stick in his craw, to use one of her Grandmother Robinson's sayings.

_"Gotta say I'm surprised.__ I didn't think __Willow__ was that kind of girl."_

_"What kind of girl?"_

_"Into dangerous guys.__ She seems smarter than that." _

She should have known, then. She should have realized that there were going to be major problems. She was _not_ going to apologize for Angel, not ever, or be made to feel that her love for him had in some way tainted her. And she knew, somehow, that it would have come to that. Eventually. Riley had been a decent guy, but the fact that he had, for so long, completely bought into the Initiative's methods, should have been a red flag to her. For Riley, the world had been fairly black and white, and Buffy knew that loving Angel had greyed her out more than a little. Perhaps she'd always known, somewhere inside her, that her past with Angel would someday have killed any future with Riley.

She hadn't remembered them, Buffy realized with a slight sense of surprise. Riley _or_ Angel. Either of them. They'd been among the fade in/fade out parts of her past, lumped in with everyone who wasn't Dawn or Spike. That fact made her feel a little guilty, a little sad, and maybe…

…maybe just a bit relieved.

"We're here," Dawn said, and Buffy broke off her musings to look up at the neat plaque over the door.

Dawn was eyeing her with that 'just act normal and don't do or say anything to embarrass me or I will poison your food' look again as they entered Enchantment Floral and Gift. 

Hmm… _Enchantment, _Buffy thought. Suspicious already.

~*~

They were laughing. 

Spike was pretty sure he hadn't heard the housemates laughing together since his Slayer had been brought back, and he took a moment to savor the sound. Dawn's giggle and Buffy's deeper belly laugh, the one he'd only heard once or twice, and then by chance, nearly drowned out Tara's soft chuckle as Willow finished the story that had apparently sparked their mirth. 

He stepped toward the living room from the kitchen, pausing in the doorway between the rooms to survey them. Buffy and Dawn were sprawled out on the floor, a bowl of popcorn between them. As he watched, Dawn pelted her sister with a kernel. Judging by how many lay on the floor around his girls, this had been going on for a while. Willow and Tara were curled up together on the sofa, snuggling under a chenille throw.

Spike frowned slightly. He'd thought the witches were on the outs. Must've made up.

"Hey, Spike!" Dawn called out, gathering more ammunition from the popcorn bowl. "Wanna help me slaughter Buffy?"

"Ha! I am the Slayer! Like you could slaughter me!"

"I'm sooo kicking your ass."

"Are not."

"Am."

"Not."

"Am."

"Not."

"Hi, Spike." Tara's voice reached him over the riveting conversation of the Summers' girls that was leading to whole handfuls of fluffy whiteness, rather than individual kernels, being flung about the room.

"Ladies," he nodded, including Willow in the offhand greeting.

"What's up?" Tara went on.

"The usual. New demon in town. Thought the Slayer might like to be in on the kill."

Buffy looked up. "Do I hafta?" she pouted.

Spike eyed her. There was that lip again. "No. I can handle it," he said evenly. They looked like they were having a grand time of it. In addition to the popcorn, evidence of an earlier meal was spread out on the coffee table, and the final scenes of an old Rex Harrison film – _The Ghost and Mrs. Muir_ – were flickering across the television screen. His gaze went around the room, halting abruptly when he met Willow's eyes.

Locked on him.

"Would you like to join us for awhile first?" she asked affably. _(( Stay. Sit down. I wanna know if I can make a vampire laugh. ))_

Spike's eyes narrowed.

"No thanks," he said, his voice cold. "This demon likes to feed on humans. No time to dilly-dally tonight."

Willow's own gaze hardened. _(( What have you done? ))_

_((( What I needed to do to keep you the fuck out of my head.)))_

"Oh, well, then," Willow smiled. "That does sound more important."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, rising to her feet. "Looks like I'm outta here." She looked at the others. "You know – sacred duty, yada, yada, yada."

Dawn's face fell at the apparent end to their evening, before her eyes lit up with hope. "Can I come with?" 

"Not tonight," Spike refused. "This demon is pretty vicious. Don't wanna take any chances with that pretty skin of yours." He looked at Buffy. "Crossbow, love. Best to kill this one from a distance if you can. There's a slime factor."

"Eeeww. Thanks for the warning."

Buffy retrieved a crossbow and arrows from her weapons chest and handed them to Spike while she went to get a coat.

Spike held Willow's eyes, but his words were directed to Dawn. "'bout time for you to be all tucked up for the night, isn't it, bit?" _((( Harm a hair on her head, and chip or no chip, I will tear you to pieces. )))_

"What are you, my dad?" Dawn grumbled.

_(( You can try. ))_

"Hardly." _((( I'll do more than try. I will hunt you until I'm dust. )))_ "It's late. Don't you have to work in the morning?"

_(( Dust can be arranged_. ))

"Oh! I got a new job!" Dawn enthused. "I don't start 'til next Saturday, but guess where, Spike?"

His eyes finally left those of the redhead and focused on the teenager. He stepped closer to her, reaching out to touch her hair. "Where's that, pet?"

"With Emily! You know – Liza! At the flower shop."

"Yeah?" he smiled. "You'll like that."

"I know! I can't wait! And she wanted me – _me_, Spike! Even with the whole klutziness issue."

"You are not a klutz," he objected, not for the first time. "You're jes' growing into those legs. Bound to take a bit of time. And of course she wanted you. She's a smart woman, isn't she? Bein' a Brit an' all."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Right. Ups the base IQ by at least fifty points, doesn't it?"

"Minimum," he agreed, and Dawn snorted.__

Buffy rejoined them. "Ready?" she asked.

"Always, pet," he drawled, and took delight in the faint flush that touched her face. His eyes went back to Dawn. "Go on up to bed now, there's a good girl."

"Oh, Pleeease! _'__There's a good girl'", she mimicked. "Are you shooting for grandfather now?"_

"Be shooting a kick at your arse soon, luv."

"I am sooo sure." Dawn tossed her head. "What. _Ever." She looked at everyone. "I'm going to bed!" she announced with false enthusiasm, and Tara started to laugh softly._

"Good idea, sweetie." She stole a sideways glance at her lover, and Dawn rolled her eyes again, before relenting.

"This was really fun tonight. Pasta, movie, popcorn wars. Yeah, good times." 

The housemates smiled in agreement, then, to Spike's disgust, followed the smiles with hugs all around.

"Are you birds quite finished?" he asked. "'m not sure how much longer I can control my gag reflex." He didn't pull away though, when Dawn's arms closed around him. He even hugged her back as his eyes met Willow's once more. _((( Not a hair on her head, Red. )))_

Willow smiled calmly.

Spike suppressed a growl. The Watcher had left late this afternoon on a brief business trip to L.A. But as soon as he returned, they were going to have a talk.

~*~

He was very quiet, Lorne thought. And he didn't seem to mingle much. He'd only seen him exchange greetings with a couple of the other patrons. Usually, he ordered a drink, sat alone at a table and seemed to enjoy the singers.

He wasn't human, but Lorne didn't know what kind of demon he was. He certainly looked harmless. Meek, mild mannered, unfailingly polite. Lorne had to admit his curiosity about the man grew every time he came in. Perhaps it was time to introduce himself, ask the harmless looking demon some harmless sounding questions. 

The man looked up as Lorne put a hand on the back of the chair next to him.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"I – why, no, please do." The corners of his mouth turned up in a perfect little bow.

Lorne sat down. "I'm Lorne," he introduced himself. "The owner here."

"Bellamy."

"Welcome to Caritas. I've seen you in here several times in the last few weeks." Lorne told him. "I thought it was time to introduce myself, and thank you for your patronage."

"And check me out?"

Lorne smiled. "That, too." He paused. "You're not human…"

"No. A Daxis-Nocte pixie." At Lorne's blank look, he sighed, giving a small shake of his head. "We're not very well known, I'm afraid. There aren't many of us in this dimension. It can get a little lonely, so rarely being around your own kind."

"Sometimes, it's a blessing," Lorne had to add, thinking of his own world, and Bellamy nodded.

"I imagine that can be the case, if one is an individualist."

He still seemed harmless, Lorne thought. Polite, articulate. Hmmm…

"You seem to enjoy the singing – especially the karaoke singers."

"Yes. I find it fascinating, trying to put a personality with the singers, based on their choice of song, and their delivery."

"You should give it a go."

Bellamy blushed a little, and looked down. "Me? On no," he shook his head. "I do so enjoy the cabaret, but I'm afraid if I got up on stage, I would send all your customers scurrying out the nearest exit."

Lorne let it go. "Believe me, there have been people on that stage who should never be allowed to lift their voices in song of any kind." Even good friends. He shuddered visibly in remembrance. "Some of them have been up there more than once. The crowd usually survives."

"I wonder why they feel compelled to perform."

Lorne shrugged. "It's show biz."

Bellamy laughed softly, and took a sip of his drink. "Well, several of them certainly exercise my professional interests." At Lorne's questioning look, he explained. "I'm something of a demon psychologist," he said. "Not really licensed, I'm afraid," he added in a self depreciating manner. _Could one be?_ "But I've been talking with various demons for many years, helping them to work out some of the issues and difficulties of living in a human world. Some species adjust very well, but for others there's so much trauma, even great suffering, as they try to make their way."

Lorne had heard of psychologists dealing with the demon populace, of course, though he'd only ever met one other. The vast majority of demons, leaning toward evil, didn't care about adjusting their psyches. But some types of demons _did_ care, and really needed someone to talk to or to offer guidance. He looked Bellamy over again. He could sense no evil in the man. He was a little too self-effacing for Lorne's more brash style, but he liked him. The pixie made him feel comfortable. Perhaps that was part of his 'counselor' persona. Lorne imaged it would be an asset.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. "If I hear of someone who could use an ear to listen, I'll give them your name. Do you have a card?"

Bellamy patted his pockets, then came up with a slightly crumpled business card. It was plain white, with simple block letters in unrelieved black. BELLAMY. A phone number. No frills there, either, Lorne thought.

Lorne stood, and placed the business card in the inside pocket of his lavender jacket. "I hope I'll see you here again. Enjoy the show."

Bellamy smiled sweetly. "I always do."

~*~


	11. Awakenings Chapter Eleven

Journeys by Mary 

~*~

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love. 

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

****

**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

See notes, etc. preceding Chapter One. 

A/N: This chapter contains some material not suitable for FF.net. If you are over 18 and would like to read the unedited version, it can be found at All About Spike, at The Crypt and at several other sites. Links will not work here, but you can e-mail me for an address at MKStatz@aol.com

Please include an age statement.

I feel I have edited on the side of caution. If anyone feels I have left in material that does not fit an R rating, please let me know. I dislike the vagueness of FF.net's policy, but as I've chosen to continue posting here, I am trying to abide by it.

****

****

**Chapter Eleven**

Her back was to the door, and he was kissing her. 

Did he have to be so damned good at it? Buffy wondered with some irritation. The irritation was mixed with a pretty hefty dose of not caring, because – well, because he _was_ so damned good at it.

They'd done a brief early patrol, and planned to make another sweep in a couple of hours. Buffy had suggested they rent a movie to fill in the time. Spike had looked at her suggestively, but she'd ignored him, reminding herself that she'd quite logically worked out that they needed to Slow. Things. Down. and dragged him into the nearest Blockbusters.

They'd argued and bickered about which film to rent. She'd wanted to rent another romantic haunted house film like _The Uninvited_ and the clerk had suggested _The Ghost and Mrs. Muir_. Spike opined that since she'd just seen that, they might wanna choose something else. Buffy had looked at him, puzzled. She'd never seen that movie. She'd looked at the picture on the box, and re-read the description, but it didn't look familiar to her.

_"You just watched it the other night, Slayer. You and the bit, Red and Tara? Remember? I stopped in to tell you about the R'Ashaka-R'Habe demon?" He shook his head at her blank look. "Is none of this ringing a bell?_

_"Of course I remember you stopping," she'd told him. "And going out to kill that demon, too. Eeeww. Like I could forget that. We were both covered with all that totally icky and beyond gross slime."_

_"Which could have been avoided if you could fire a crossbow with any accuracy."_

_Buffy ignored the interruption. "It took me an hour in the shower to get it all out of my hair." The slime had been wicked stubborn, and she'd been starting to worry that she was going to have to cut half her long hair off, which she sooo had no intention of doing. "But we were watching something else. I don't remember a lot about it, but I know it was funny. I laughed through most of it."_

_"Yeah.__ An' you don't think it a bit odd that you can't remember the film now?" His voice sounded strange, kind of tight._

_"What do you mean? It was just one of those dumb-and-could-this-get-any-dumber? comedies. Funny at the time, and then, whoosh!, gone."_

_He looked like he was about to say more, but then she'd gotten distracted by paying for the movie, and when she was done, he'd apparently decided to drop the subject._

She was determined that they were going to watch the film at her house rather than the crypt. She figured it was much safer because of the whole not being alone because-half-the-people-she-knew-lived-with-her thing. 

That well laid plan had fallen through, though, when they'd come home to find all those other people missing. Dawn had gone out for dinner and to a late movie with Willow, and Tara was doing one of her twice monthly all night stints at the local crisis hotline. When she'd first learned that Tara did the phone counseling, Buffy had been a bit surprised. Tara didn't seem – what, assertive enough? – for the job. But watching her with Dawn, and giving it some thought, Buffy realized that Tara's calm demeanor and clearly caring tone was probably much more important than assertiveness. In fact, it was probably a far better approach to a lot of problems that might come up. 

Spike had read the side-by-side notes from her housemates over Buffy's shoulder, and the next thing she knew, she had backed him up against the front door, pulled his head down to hers even as she was trying to climb up his body, and had started kissing him like crazy.

Since the night in his crypt he'd apparently been waiting for her to make the first move, and a girl can hold out just so long.

Eventually, they'd gotten turned around, and now here they were, her back pressed to the door, her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, mouths locked together.

edited

He groaned. "I feel like I'm gonna explode." He made a strong motion against her. "Feel me?" 

"Yes. Oh god, yes."

"I'm aching for you, love. So much. Want it all tonight."

Edited

"Spike, we can't…"

"We can, love."

"We can't," she insisted, but her words lost some effectiveness when she moaned and bucked against him again.

"Ah, ahhh," His body answered with its own movement. (edited) His voice was rough, ragged, but still cajoling. "Buffy," he whispered along her jaw. "You know this is gonna happen. You know we're gonna be together, don't you?"

"Yes, I know," she didn't hesitate. She'd known since the minute she'd seen him when she'd first come back, since she'd stood on the stairs, and looked down at him looking up at her. _She'd known._ Had he? It had been like a distance glow at the time. _He belonged to her._ She'd known, but for some reason, she hadn't really realized it, or understood it or something until that night in the Bronze, or maybe not until the night in his crypt. She still didn't feel like she understood what was happening with them, what she was feeling. But that knowledge had been growing, shifting and changing inside her since the moment on the stairs, when she'd first come back, and right now the certainty of it, of him, of _them_, was running through her body, into every nerve ending. _She knew. _

Slow. Things. Down.

_Don't wanna. Her whole mind was pouting._

His hands clutched her bottom, fingers digging into firm flesh. 

edited

"Let me in."

"I can't. I have – it's the wrong – I can't." Argh! She wanted to scream. Why could she never talk about, um, _things_?

"Because you're bleedin'?" he asked bluntly, and she could actually feel her face heating up. It must be stained with color. She'd never talked about this with a guy. Ever. It had certainly never come up with Angel, _not enough time, Buffy, _she told herself, and God, she'd never even talked about it with Riley. When she had her period, she'd just mutter a vague 'no', and he'd look away, avoiding her eyes, and they'd go see a movie or something. 

"You can't think that matters, love?" Spike lifted her face, and pushed her hair back so that he could look directly into her eyes.

"I can't," she repeated. She tried to meet his eyes. 

"You know it'll just make it better for me," he whispered, right next to her ear.

"Oooh." Oh god, oh god. Did he mean? Of course he does, Buffy. _Vampire._

"Look at me," he said quietly.

She tried again. Failure.

He sighed, unwrapping her legs from around his waist, and letting her slide to the floor. He winced a little as her body rubbed hard against him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"'s okay, pet. I can wait. I've waited a long time for you. And we _have time now. Few more days…" _

He lifted her face to his, forcing the eye contact she'd been avoiding. His expression was so soft, the curve of his mouth… Buffy felt her heart move almost painfully in her chest.

"How about a nice long snog on the sofa instead?"

"No," she said quietly, and he tilted his head, eyeing her. 

"No?"

"I don't want you to wait."

He turned his hands, and ran his palms down the front of her thighs. "Change your mind, love?" He was practically purring. "Woman's prerogative…"

That tone of voice should sooo be illegal. 

"No, not about…" she shifted a little, then looked up at him from under her lashes. Her own tone changed, flirtation creeping in. "I thought maybe tonight, I could 'see' to you. Sort of – return the favor?"

"Take away some of my tension?" His tongue curled against his teeth.

"Yeah…" Her right hand slid into his hair. "Wouldn't want you too – tense."

"No," he agreed, his mouth returning to hers.

He picked her up, and oh god, she loved that – that effortless strength of his – and she wrapped her legs around him again as he carried her over to the sofa. A movement, another, and they were lying together, duster discarded, and their bodies pressed close. He'd positioned her on the inside of the sofa, she noted, with his back exposed to the room. One of his instinctive moves of protection. He did them a lot, and she had just recently begun to notice. 

When her hand slid to the fastening of his jeans, he stayed it.

"Don't rush, love," he murmured. He brought her hand back up, wrapping it around his neck, and leaned back in to kiss her again. "Just let it happen."

God, he was so… For some reason, even after the other night, she still expected him to be a bit – rougher, quicker, more demanding. And she knew he could be, _would be_… even, in some ways, _had been_ in his crypt… But this incredible tenderness, this patient, slow seduction – oooh. 

They were kissing again. Oh, good, good… but different. Less urgent. Deeper, slower. After all, he was right, there was no real rush, was there? They had time. _Time._

Their limbs entwined, and their bodies began moving together. Mouths dragged across the curve of cheek and jaw, sliding down, touching a strong throat, a slim neck, retracing their paths to join again. Tongues entwined too, stroking, one against the other. He gave a low groan as she drew back to nip at his lower lip, she gave a soft gasp as his tongue brushed against the roof of her mouth. The sounds of desire wrapped around them.

_He feels so good._ She was enthralled by the hardness of his body, the muscles bunching and moving under the taut skin of his torso as she tugged his t-shirt over his head. He lifted his arms, aiding her. Her hands swept over the skin of his shoulders, down and across his chest.

So strong.

His strength pleased her, aroused her.

_He belongs to me._

And all of – _this_ – is mine. 

She loved watching him work out; loved watching the shift and play of his muscles. She'd found herself staring at his shirtless form more and more often at the Magic Box. She wondered now if her eyes had revealed her hunger to him, wondered briefly if Giles had ever noticed it, as he wandered in and out of the training room when they worked out, or when he supervised their more intense training sessions. This was the first time she'd touched him like this, really. She'd wrapped him in her arms the other night at his crypt, slipped her hands under his shirt, but he'd left his clothes on, even when she'd urged him to at least take off his shirt. "_Too much skin contact, love",_ he'd protested._ "I'd never be able to hold back."_

Maybe that's what she'd wanted. For him to not hold back. And now… Damn! The joys of womanhood. At least her periods were always short and light. Another day or two, and they could…

Oh, yeah, Buffy. You're so good at slowing things down.

Her hands swept over his back, savoring the feel of smooth, cool flesh. She felt almost like she could get drunk on the feel of him alone. And it wasn't just the physical strength of his body, the rippling of muscles that called to her. There was more, something more. _Power. He had it in spades, and she could feel it running under his skin, through his body._

Power.

Her hunger for him deepened. God, she wanted…

_She wanted his power._

She wanted to take it into herself, blend it with her own, savor it, use it, share it with him. And she wanted to give him hers.

Her mind almost exploded at the thought, a revelation to her. She'd never felt like that, like this. She was the Slayer. All that that meant had been coming back to her since the night of Joan, flooding her. _She _had power. 

Real power. 

She'd doubted it at first, worried about it, but Spike's reassurances had done what they'd been intended to do – reassured her. He'd been right about the memories, and she'd started to put faith in him. He'd told her that everything she needed was inside her, and she'd believed it. Believed him.

She couldn't feel it all yet, but she was sure it was there. Maybe just waiting for something to jog the last pieces loose, as he'd suggested, or perhaps renewing itself in some way… The mystical power of the Slayer. At this moment, she felt almost like she was craving it, like she could barely wait to feel it back at full strength. Because she wanted to explore it, share it, with _him._ She didn't understand _that _at all, but the longing moved through her like an unusual force, dark and light, swirling through her thoughts. Had they just formed? Or had she just not recognized them or their meaning until now? 

She'd carried so much confusion around since she'd been resurrected, and still had so many things to straighten out. At least she could remember what they were now. It was so freeing to not have to spend hours trying to remember Xander's name or struggling to recall the details of her mom's face and how it had moved when she'd spoken, how her eyes had lit up when she laughed.

Spike's fingers worked the buttons of her blouse. They were tiny little things, difficult even for her to fasten, but she'd loved them, all those tiny sparkling little beads of black. He worked them carefully, deftly, not dislodging a single one from the fabric. His drew the soft black fabric down off of her shoulder, letting his mouth move to the newly exposed flesh.

"Sweeter than honey, love," he whispered into the skin of her upper arm. 

edited

She gasped with pleasure. For some reason she simply couldn't fathom, she'd never had any idea her breasts were so incredibly sensitive. Since the other night in his crypt, it seemed she'd spent half her waking hours thinking about ways to get Spike's mouth and hands back on them. 

edited

Panting, Buffy began to calm. She pressed her face into Spike's throat, nuzzling him, as her body recovered. She could feel the heat starting, and she smiled, welcoming it – that wonderful flood of warmth she'd felt with him several times now. Mmmm. She liked that, too. 

"You think we can figure out exactly how this heat thing is triggered, so we can make it happen whenever we want?" he asked. His voice was muffled by her hair, but she could still hear the amusement and the satisfaction in it. 

"Dunno," she murmured. "I'm thinking it's, like, you know, one of those bonus features."

"Worth waiting for the special edition DVD, though, innit?"

"Oh, yeah." She didn't know what caused it, but she knew she liked it.

She pressed closer, sliding her mouth down his chest so that she could touch her lips to the spot over his unbeating heart. 

edited

_He's strong here,_ she thought, with hazy pleasure. _All that passion.___

Her eyes drifted shut for a moment, and when she opened them again, she was looking into Spike's eyes. They were dark with need, soft with… with…

"Buffy… "

Could he please never stop saying her name? He made it sound…

edited

She felt a little shock go through her to hear him use the word power when it had been so heavy in her mind.

edited

~*~

She was sitting up, slouched lazily against the back of the sofa, and he was next to her, alongside her, kneeling on the cushions with his body arched over hers as he kissed her.

"God, Slayer, I could kiss you all night long. Your taste, the way you feel, your scent –" His mouth returned to hers.

All night long. That's what she wanted, too. Exactly what she wanted. To curl up into his arms, and just spend what remained of the night wrapped up there, kissing him.

Ohhh. If that mouth was headed back to her breasts, she was gonna have to do everything she could to encourage _that._

She arched her back, and he groaned, but instead of trailing his mouth down to her breasts as she wanted, his lips lingered on her neck, arched, exposed to him. They moved from just under her chin to the small hollow at the base of her throat. His hand wrapped more tightly into her hair, and he turned her body so that he could tug her head back even further, and Buffy willingly complied, dropping her head back as far as she could, and bracing herself on her arms to support them. His mouth continued to move up and down her throat, and they both began to moan. 

Oh. My. God. What? What was _that? What was happening?_

She suddenly didn't care that his mouth wasn't finding her nipples, because this, oh, god,_ this was even better…_

~*~

He could hear her blood rushing through her body, racing faster and faster. Her heart was pounding, and the sound of it was intensifying, beginning to fill the room. 

Sonofa…

Excitement, emotion, amazement; _something _was gripping him, and it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

His awareness shifted, pulled back from the scene. He was there with her, and he wasn't. No control. Taken over. His body moved. He was still on his knees, but they were straddling her thighs now, pressed close to her as he loomed over her. He could hear the rumbling in his throat – a strange sound, somewhere between a growl and a purr – a sound he was quite sure he'd never made before. He pulled back just enough to look into her face. Their eyes locked, and he was riveted by hers – glinting with golden lights, intent, pulling him in. A challenge? He knew his own eyes were flashing gold. Streaking. She dropped her head back, exposing herself to him. His hand sank into her hair, and he tugged her head back even further, as his mouth moved over her chin, and began to trail down her throat.

Her heartbeat was even louder now, stronger, the very air around them was pulsating in rhythm with it, thudding, thudding. Louder, stronger.

And then…

She was covering him, consuming him, her body joining with his, closer, merging, closer, closer, _oh, there, **there.**_ She was in him, and he realized that he was in her too, that she was crying out sounds of mingled shock and pleasure. Oh god, she was _there_ – on him, inside him, with him – she was part of him, she _was_ him, inside, outside, all over him. He could _feel_ her blood pounding now, matching the beat of her heart as it should, but now it was pounding through _him_, through _his _veins, through _his_ mind. 

_Your blood, my blood, our blood…_

Remembered words whispered through his mind briefly, and were lost in sensation. 

_Buffy._

_Buffy.___

**_Slayer._****__**

Power, pain, passion; mingling, roaring through them, around them, capturing, escaping. Hold on, hold on. Stay. Give.  More. Fear and longing. Wonder. Endless. _Endless.__ Stay._

edited

Lost.

The world went dark.

When awareness returned, he was sitting on the floor next to the sofa, and Buffy was laying on her side on the cushions, her arm draped loosely around his neck. They were both panting, hard, dragging in air that one of them damned well shouldn't even need, but seemed desperate for right now.

"What the hell was that?" he groaned out as soon as he felt capable of stringing together coherent syllables. 

"I don't know," she sounded as dazed as he felt. "But I want more."

Bloody hell, so did he. _Right now._ Just as soon as he could move.

"Tell me what you felt."

"_You._ I felt _you_." Her voice, so close to his ear, was raw, husky. "I still do. I **_feel_**_ you_."

"Inside you?"

"Yes. All over me. All through me. Oh, god, so incredible… And now, peace and warmth, and I – oh god, Spike…" Her voice changed, becoming a soft desolate wail. "Oh no, no…please –" 

It was slipping away.

The peace and warmth she'd spoken of, the incredible aftermath of whatever the sodding hell that had been, was fading away, leaving them, eluding them. He wanted it back – not just the after glow, but the whole thing, wanted to experience it again, the fierce pleasure of being inside her that way – in her body, in her mind, her heart, _in her soul,_ maybe, to feel her in _his _body, in _his_ heart and mind, moving all through him. 

A part of him. As he'd been a part of her. Been her.

One.

"Nooo…" she moaned again. "Nooo…"

He turned, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her down onto the floor with him, onto him, across him, back into his arms, and buried his face in her throat.  

"We'll get it back, Slayer, I swear. We'll bloody well find it again…"

"Promise me."

"We will…"

The phone rang.

"Don't answer that," he urged into her open mouth.

"I won't – the machine…"

Her mouth was trailing over his face now, lips touching themselves to the corners of his eyes. "Take me back – where we were. Take me there again…"

"I will," he vowed. "You take me, too."

"I will," her vow was a solemn as his.

"Buffy? Buffy – are you there?" Dawn's hysterical wail could be heard on the machine, followed by the unmistakable sound of a sob. "Oh, god, please, please, please, be there. I need you, need you, please…"

~*~

Author's Notes

Whew! Finally! I'm so sorry that it's been more than a month since the last update. Please feel free to send me nasty e-mails and complain! *g* 

If you're reading at FF.net, there are a lot of edits in this chapter. Sorry. I see Buffy and Spike as a very physical, passionate pair, so it's gonna happen.

I must admit the end of the series hit me a bit harder than I expected it to. I thought I was braced for it, but I guess, when I spent two days in my office with the door closed so that no one could see me crying, it was a hint that I was going to have a bit of difficulty letting go. I heard from several people, wanting to know how I was dealing with it, and a week after the series ended, when I felt able to actually discuss it (I did okay in chat right after it was over, but by the next day I was a complete mess), my computer died, and, busy at work, I was unable to get back to a lot of people. Work has slowed down somewhat in the last week, though, and I hope to be catching up with my e-mails soon. Or, at least, attempting to. Argh! I'm not going to comment on the finale here, because I know I have readers who've not yet seen it.

At any rate, the dying computer (only 3 months old, mind you!) set me back on 'Journeys' too. So today I offer, in an attempt to suck up to all of you – two chapters! Yeah, me! I suffered from a bit of writer's block, which pretty much had the same effect on me that Michael Flatley has on Chandler Bing, but today went well, so I'm hoping I'm past it.

As always, thank you so much to all the wonderful sites that are archiving this fic for me, and especially to First Rabid, who has created an awards page for me as well. I appreciate all of you. And to the people who have been nominating 'Journeys' for awards all over the place – I'm incredibly touched that you find the story worthy. Most of all – thank you to everyone who sends feedback. It means so much to me to know people are reading and enjoying the story. Additional feedback is, ahem, _always welcome!_

To Kirs and her chat group – a little something special for you in Chapter Ten. You'll find it. Thanks for the laughs. And Kirs, now that I have a computer at home again, I will get back to you. Guilt is covering me for not doing so yet.

I'm off to the U.S. Gymasatics Championships later this week with my daughter (the retired *cough* state all-around champion *cough*, also on the *cough* National High School Team *cough* gymnast). I'm completely pumped! I think the U.S could well put together a kick-a$$ (stolen from Valerie of 'Super Food World' fame) team. Watch on TV! I'll wave to you! I'm not totally ugly and look nowhere near my real age, and my daughter is a knock-out! I'm sure you'll have no trouble spotting us!

Mary

June 14, 2003


	12. Awakenings Chapter Twelve

Journeys by Mary 

WE are shaped and fashioned by what we love.

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

~*~

**Part 2: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench

~*~

See notes, etc. preceding chapter one.

****

**Chapter Twelve**

"Slow down a little, Dawnie. I can barely understand you."

Spike was on his feet. The words didn't matter. He could hear Dawn's tone clearly over the telephone line and that was enough. His girl was hysterical. He fastened his jeans, and pulled his t-shirt on before stepping into his Docs.

"Where are you exactly? Is there a street sign you can see?"

Buffy didn't seem to be getting much information.

"Where?" Spike asked.

"Somewhere near the docks, she thinks. She doesn't even know, but she says it looks like the warehouses in that area, and she can smell the sea."

"My cell phone –"

Buffy nodded, and spoke into the phone again. "If you see a street sign, or a business sign, call us back on Spike's cell phone. Do you know the number? Good. Now listen. I know. Listen, Dawn. Yes, sweetie, take a deep breath. I know. Spike and I are coming. Watch for us, try to stay in one place, and unless you're calling us, stay out of sight. We're on our way, and we _will_ find you. I promise Dawnie. Soon."

Buffy tossed the phone onto the sofa, and picked up her blouse. Spike watched her struggling to calm herself as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. 

"Vamps?"

"No, something else." 

"Demon or human?" In that part of town they could be equally dangerous.

"Demon." That, at least, had come through loud and clear.

"Good." I can kill them, he thought. "If there's one scratch on her, I'll tear their heads off," he said grimly.

Her fingers were trembling as they struggled to fasten the buttons of her blouse – all those tiny little beaded buttons. Her bra remained, a scrap of black lace, on the floor next to the sofa. He watched for a few more seconds before stepping over to her and stilling her hands. Shaking and scared, she instinctively began to jerk away from him, and he clutched her hands more tightly, preventing her from pulling away.

"Hold on, love," his voice was soothing. "You'll never get all those little things. Run upstairs now and get something else to wear while I get some weapons."

For a second he thought she'd refuse, but then she nodded. "Axe, sword," she ordered as she ran up the stairs.

"My thoughts exactly." He crossed to the weapons chest, yanking out the necessary weaponry. He was too upset to treat the items with his usual loving care. "What the bloody hell is she doing in that neighborhood?" he called up the stairs.

"I don't know," Buffy called back. "But I intend to find out. And I will."

He opened the front door. "I'll start the bike."

"No." Her voice sounded from right behind him and he turned to her, his eyes questioning. "Unless you plan to have Dawn sit on the handlebars on the way home." A utilitarian deep red sweater had taken the place of the comely blouse.

"Right. Sorry. Wasn't thinkin' straight."

"Mom's SUV. The keys are on that little bureau over there…" she pointed, then frowned as she noticed the bureau wasn't there. "What? Where?" For a second she looked distraught, almost panicky. "I don't know where the keys are!"

"Easy, love," his voice touched her. "I'll get you mum's car started." He tossed her a sword. "You wanna grab anything else?"

She hefted the sword and eyed his axe. "No, we're good."

Two minutes later, Spike had hotwired the SUV, and they were backing out of the garage.

"One? Two? More?"

"Only one. I think. I'm not sure." Her voice was grim. "Dawn could barely talk."

"We find it, and it's anywhere near your sis – you tend to her, and let me take it out."

"No." She refused. "_You tend to her._ I_ wanna take it out." Her voice was hard, inflexible. "I need to."_

Approval gleamed in his eyes at her words and tone. "Whatever you want, Slayer." 

He rounded a corner, tight and fast, and aimed the SUV in the general direction of the ocean. He could feel the rage running through her system as clearly as he could feel his own. He could feel her fear, too, for Dawn. Smell it.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I don't know." A passenger now, with nothing to do except look out the windows when they got to the right part of town, Buffy's hands were clenching into fists against her thighs. "Like I said, she was pretty incoherent. But I got that some demon attacked her."

"I thought she and Willow were going to a movie? What the hell were they doing near the docks? And where's Red? Is she with her?"

Buffy just shook her head. He could see she had all the same questions and none of the answers. 

"Spike, I –" She swallowed. "If anything happens to her…"

"Shhh. We'll find her, love. An' she's gonna be fine."

~*~

It took them more than half an hour of cruising up one street and down the next to locate her. Even then they might have missed her if Dawn hadn't recognized the SUV and called out her sister's name. Buffy bolted out the door before the slammed on brakes brought the vehicle to a full stop, and the sisters met at the curb where Dawn launched herself into Buffy's arms.

Dawn was still trembling with lingering terror and shock when they got her home, and she wasn't making much more sense than she had been on the phone. 

"I'm going to get her cleaned up," Buffy said. Dawn was clinging to her, oblivious to most of what was going on around her.

Spike had already noted the nasty, bloody scrapes on the palms of Dawn's hands, and he tried not to stare at them. He could guess she'd tripped, put her hands out to break her fall, and had slid along the pavement. That was the least upsetting scenario he could visualize, and he clung to it as his own hands spasmed at his sides.

She'd said Willow had left her alone.

_Left. Her. Alone._

His voice when he spoke, though, was calm. "Go ahead. Thought I'd make some cocoa. You know, like your mum used to do?"

Buffy smiled slightly.

He'd long ago learned from Dawn that Joyce hadn't used cocoa just to calm lovesick vampires. It was a Joyce Summers ritual, a bloody tradition. Bad day at school? Cocoa. Upsetting dream? Cocoa. Wanker of a father cancel out at the last minute on planned togetherness, _again?_ Cocoa. Slaying getting you down? Cocoa.

Attacked by a demon on the way to a movie? Cocoa. Spike figured it fit in, and he was more than willing to step in for the unavailable Joyce.

"You wanna cup, too, love?"

"Please?"

"I'll bring them up when they're ready."

"Oh, and don't put any marshmallows in…"

"Yeah, the bit doesn't like them – monkey brains, annoying older sister traumatizing her for life. I know."

Dawn, who usually raised hell when she was talked about as if she wasn't in the room, didn't even seem to hear them. And she still hadn't stopped shaking. Spike watched closely as Buffy led her sister out of the kitchen, and listened as their steps sounded on the stairs. Maybe he should make a cup of cocoa for himself as well. Joyce had obviously believed it to have calming properties, and he thought he might need whatever advantages he could get in order to remain in an acceptably non-violent state through the coming talk he was planning to have with Dawn.

He wondered briefly if there were any tranquilizers in the house. If that thing had touched his girl, he might explode before he could get out of her sight, and that would only upset her more. Oh, sod it all. Tranquillizers had to be pretty bleedin' powerful to work on him, and he wasn't about to drug himself up. Chances were he'd be hunting before the night was out.

She was home, safe, but the rage inside him wasn't in the least appeased. Something had dared to go after his girl, his Dawn. He was gonna track down whatever it had been, and make certain its last moments were agonizing. But before he killed it, he was gonna find out it the attack had been a random act of violence, or if the bit had been targeted, and why.

And when he got his hands on the little witch who had exposed her to this, who had willingly left her alone, vulnerable…

Red would have reason to thank the Initiative doctors once again.

Of course, if Willow was injured in some way, or had some rational explanation… 

Spike was feeling pretty bleedin' sure that wasn't gonna be the case, though. Something had definitely been up with the redhead the other night when he'd stopped in to tell his Slayer about the R'Ashaka-R'Habe demon. There'd been some sort of change in the witch. Something that had – shifted – before, had shifted further. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something different in her; a new confidence of sorts, or a mixture of cockiness and a calmer certainty that she was somehow – above – the rest of them. 

The protection spell he'd had performed on himself had her mental invitations bouncing off of him, and even though the housemates had appeared to be simply enjoying an evening of togetherness, he'd gotten the impression Willow had somehow engineered both the evening's events and the high spirited moods of the others. Not that he hadn't enjoyed seeing them all laughing together, but Buffy's mood hadn't seemed in keeping with her reticence since her resurrection, and the fact that she had no memory of the film they'd been watching made him uneasy. 

Spike frowned. He could, he admitted to himself, have that bit wrong. He'd been paying a lot more attention to Willow than to the flickering images on the small screen. Perhaps they _hadn't_ been watching _The Ghost and Mrs. Muir_ at all. Perhaps he'd just caught some clips of the old film being shown for some reason on the telly. That _could have been the case. None of them had been paying much attention to it, after all. _

Spike paid no heed to the fact that it was rather unlike him to try to sift through all of the evidence before reaching a conclusion. Instead, he was wishing Giles was back from his business trip. 'Course he might be by now. After all, it wasn't his business to keep track of the other bloke's schedule, was it? Was the Watcher supposed to be home this evening, or not until tomorrow night? Soon, Spike hoped, strong emotions jumping under his skin again. 

Discomfort.  

_Fear. _

For his girls.

He hated it. Hated the helplessness of it. They were _his,_ to care for, to protect, and he didn't know how to do that against a human threat, didn't know how to…

_He couldn't fail them again._

_Couldn't continue to exist if he did._

Sonofabloodybitch.

He needed to hit something, kill something, commit some destructive act. 

Instead, he struggled for control, willing his fists to unclench. 

Cocoa. Right. 

He forced himself to heat the milk, find the chocolate, set out the cups. He thought he was beginning to understand Joyce's ritual. It gave his hands something to do, and he understood that the rite hadn't just been to calm the receiver. It had been Joyce's way to calm herself. 

Smart woman, his Slayer's mum. He missed her.

~*~

She was having trouble drinking any of the cocoa for the simple reason that she could barely raise the cup to her mouth. Eyeing the tremors that continued to wrack her body, Spike gritted his teeth.

"Describe this demon for us, pet."

Dawn's shaking increased, and Buffy scooped the cup out of her hand before the contents could spill onto the bedding. She set it safely on the bedside table along with her own and eyed the vampire with some annoyance. 

"Maybe she could tell us tomorrow, Spike," she said. "When she's done shaking."

"Best she fills us in now," he argued coolly. "Wouldn't want her to forget any details."

"Like I'd forget," Dawn retorted. Spike could sense her anger, could see the hint of betrayal in her eyes as she stared at him. "I'm not a total loser!"

"Of course you're not!" Buffy agreed. She glared at Spike, and he met her eyes steadily.

Go with me on this, Slayer. 

Their eyes held for another long moment before Buffy turned to her sister.

"Okay," she said, and Spike had the odd impression she'd read his thoughts in his eyes. "Let's give this a try. Be desripto girl. Fang boy here is annoyingly good at recognizing demons. Maybe he can figure out what you ran into, and we can find it before it attacks someone else."

"Oh." Dawn obviously hadn't considered that they'd need a description in order to hunt it down, or that it might be after someone else now. "It was big," she began.

Buffy rolled her eyes, and smiled slightly at her sister, tugging on a strand of her dark hair. "They always are. Well, except for that itty-bitty Gachnar demon."

Perfect, love. You'll relax her. 

"Much taller than Spike," Dawn jibed, allowing her anger with her best friend to show a little. "Reddish brown hair covering its – well, most of its body, I guess. It had yellow eyes, and really gross teeth. You know, majorly dentally challenged."

"Were the teeth sharp?" Spike asked.

"No. And there weren't very many of them. Either it got hit in the mouth a lot, or it ate waaay too much sugar and completely didn't floss."

"Anything else?"

"No nose, just holes in the middle of its face, and by the way, eeeww." Dawn's shaking had lessened as she continued to describe the demon. "It smelled funny, too. Gross, you know. Like um, I'm not sure…" she frowned thoughtfully.

"Like spoiled milk?" Spike asked.

"Yes!" Dawn seemed amazed that he had guessed.

"Vpastus'zyn demon," Spike intoned with certainty.

Dawn's eyes widened. "How do you know that?" she asked.

"He just does. Believe me, it's irritating beyond belief, but he's, like, this demon recognition expert," Buffy informed her sister.

"I'm a highly intelligent fellow!" Spike puffed up. "I'm quite well read and I have a lot of hands on experience."

"Yeah, irritating," Dawn agreed with her sister.

"Vpastus'zyn, native to the Pacific Northwest. This one was pretty far south far its normal range," he informed them, his voice taking on the toneless sound of a bored professor. 

"IR-RA-TA-TING." the sisters repeated together. Their eyes swung from each other to him.

"The Merriam-Webster definition of 'Summers women'?" Spike inquired.

"Ha, bloody, ha, fang boy," Dawn said. She looked down at her hands, which were twisted into the bedding, but Spike caught the slight uplifting at the corners of her mouth. His own tension eased.

"You ever see this thing again, bit, and get in a position where you can't get away, go for its eyes. Not only is it blind without them, its brain stops functioning altogether."

"Maybe I am a total loser," Dawn groused. "Why couldn't I kill it? Or at least de-brain it?"

"Not your job, bit. Your job is to live." 

"And be terrified and run away, I guess," she said with disgust. "Why can't I be more like you?" she asked, looking at Buffy.

Spike snorted. "Like her? Look at her," he jibed. "Miss Skin & Bones 2001. She wasn't the Slayer, she'd be demon dinner the first time out, believe me."

"Hey!" Buffy protested. "I could be terrified and run away, too!"

"Probably wouldn't be fast enough on those short little legs," Spike said, looking them up and down. He turned back to Dawn. "You did fine, pet," he told her.

"Did not."

"Yes, you did," Buffy assured her, before glaring at Spike again. "And my legs are perfectly proportioned for my body, you, you – Not So Big & Tall Yourself Guy," she finished lamely.

"Right." Spike's tone clearly conveyed his disgust with her lack of wit. He looked back at Dawn. "You don't think you did okay? Well, then, run it down for me. I'm a pretty good judge of demon/human run-ins. Havin' been on both sides, so to speak. Should be able to tell you who got the best of the encounter."

She had, he already knew. She was _alive_.                     

"Well, when it first came at me, I screamed." She looked between them. "That's what I'm supposed to do, right?"

"Yeah."

"There was only one other guy there, in the room. When I screamed, he laughed."

Spike felt rage at the unknown 'other guy' roll off of Buffy, matching his own. "This was in the waiting room at this place Willow took you, right?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember anything else about this place? What the outside of the building looked like, if it was right on the water or a block or two off? Anything?"

"No. We were just walking down the street, and then we were, like, inside it."

"You must have gone in a door, Dawnie. Glass? Metal?"

"We were just inside! I don't remember going in a door! It was like we walked right through the walls or something!" Her voice rose, and she started to look shaky again.

Spike's body tensed up in suspicion, but he didn't pursue it.

"It's okay, bit," his voice was calm. "Forget that part. So, you got inside, and Willow left you waiting in a room with one other guy while she went into another part of the building to see someone, right?" He was making very sure he had this all clear, that he'd correctly interpreted her earlier, and much more hysterical, flood of words, and that his Slayer was absorbing all of it, too.

"Yeah."

"She tell you who she was seeing, or why?"

"No," Dawn admitted. "She just told me to wait; said she'd only be gone a minute."

"And how long was it before this thing came at you?"

Dawn hesitated before saying with obvious reluctance, "More than an hour."

"So then what happened?"

"I did the screamy thing. Then it grabbed me, and I tried to pull away. I couldn't, so I kneed it in the, er, you know…"

"Dawnie, that doesn't always – I mean with demons…"

"It was the right place, Buffy. The thing wasn't dressed, you know. I could see. Not that I was looking for, um –" her voice trailed off in embarrassment.

"You did fine. It's not always the right place, as you so delicately put it, but if the shape is basically humanoid, it's bloody well gonna be effective about eighty percent of the time. Even if you don't see anything dangling. Not all demons have dangly bits. Sometimes things – retract."

"Eeeww!" 

"Spike!" Buffy's protest almost drowned out her sister's reaction. 

"What?" he demanded. "We're talking about your sis protectin' herself. No time to go over all shy and fluttery. She needs to know what's what." He stared Buffy down until she reluctantly nodded.

There was no need to mention, he decided, that some demons considered a blow to their genitals a come on, a blatant first step in foreplay. He was all for a little roughness in foreplay himself if the mood was right, but if Buffy ever brought a knee anywhere near his nautibitz that wasn't bein' used in a caressing type fashion, he bloody well wouldn't be thinking about her shaggability. He'd be thinkin' of ways to knock her unconscious without the chip firing. Thankfully, demons with that particular peccadillo as well as being, in his opinion, completely barmy, were relatively few and far between. The chances of Dawn running into one were slim, so he didn't feel the need to cloud the issue by cautioning her about the possibility.

"And, of course, it could be female as well," he went on. "Females can be more dangerous than their male counterparts, especially if they're protecting or feeding young. That tends to run through all species. And general female bitchiness – near universal fact of nature."

"Hey!" Buffy and Dawn protested together. The sisters looked at each other and smiled in blatant female solidarity. Spike felt some satisfaction as the tension in the room slipped down another notch.

"'Course humans females excel at it, have the demon world beat all to hell."

"Yeah – What. _Ever." Dawn rolled her eyes. "Anyway, it worked," she told them. "The thing screeched like a Velociraptor, so I must've hit something it didn't want hit." She sounded calmer, and increasing sure of herself. "And then I clobbered it over the head as hard as I could with this lamp in the waiting room. It was ugly, too."_

"A lot of demons are ugly, Dawn," Buffy reminded her sister, deadpan.

"Hey!" Spike protested, using the same tone they'd used a minute ago, and Dawn snickered.

"Relax, I'm sure she didn't mean you. After all, you're a 'handsome bloke'. We know 'birds are always tellin' you…"

"That's right," Spike affirmed, preening, and this time it was Buffy who snickered. Rolled her eyes too. Bitch, he thought affectionately.

"And I meant the lamp was ugly." Dawn went on. "It was one of those retro lamps that they never should have tried to bring back, because who would ever want to remember it – you know? Plus – orange…"

"Taking advantage of what's at hand," Spike nodded. "Resourceful. Destroying unfortunate decorating choices at the same time? Good thinking. Earns bonus points."

"Then I ran."

"Scream and run. They're still your best lines of defense, sweetie," Buffy praised her.

"The kick and the lamp to the head slowed it down a bit, too, I expect," Spike added. "Gave you a head start and got you to a safe place to give big sis a call." He nodded. "You did fine."

"I did?"

"Sure you did. Don't you think so, Slayer?"

"Yeah." Buffy moved closer to her sister, and began to stroke her hair again. "You were strong, and kept your head together, following everything Spike and I have been teaching you. Get away –"

"—and get help." Dawn finished the line they'd repeated dozens of times. Every self defense lesson began with it, ended with it, and got peppered throughout with it. "Yeah, I guess I did." She was actually beginning to sound pleased with herself. "And hey! I'm a pretty fast runner, too. I didn't even get tired. And, oh, yeah, Buffy? You were right about always having a dollar or two in quarters in your pocket for emergency phone calls, even if your pants are so tight that every coin shows."

Spike's eyes ran down Buffy's body. Yup. At least seventy five cents, Maybe eighty five. Buffy shifted under his smirking expression, and his amusement deepened.

~*~

Fifteen minutes later, Dawn dozed off, aided by the two Tylenol PM's she'd given her, and she and Spike went back downstairs. Spike seethed and paced, and made it very easy for her to read his rage, while she made phone calls.

People arrived. Giles, Xander, Anya. Worry, fear, and anger were running through the room, as Buffy briefed them on the situation. With Dawn safely tucked up in bed, their chief concern was Willow, and they didn't have any idea what had happened to her or why. Was she hurt? Chained up? Dead? Possessed? Newly evil? Or had she just abandoned all good sense, along with her friend's little sister?

Buffy and Giles, who had returned from his buying trip to L.A. only an hour before her call, started laying out search grids on a map of Sunnydale which they had spread out over the coffee table. The dock area was notorious for its seedy occupants, and even though Giles and Xander were experienced fighters, Buffy was very reluctant to send either of them into the dangers of that neighborhood alone. Forming two teams – herself with Xander and Spike with Giles – seemed to give them the best possibility of finding Willow quickly without any accompanying death, dismemberment or unnecessary bleeding of any member of their group. Anya, she hoped, would stay with Dawn. 

Buffy looked at the map, groaning at the amount of ground they would have to cover.

"Anya, Giles, can either of you do some sort of location spell? If you can't, I think I'm going to have to call Tara and ask her to come home. I didn't want to take her away from her job, and I was really hoping to have Willow safely back here before telling her anything at all, but we have no idea what we're looking for, and we have to narrow down the search. We can try to backtrack from where we found Dawn, but she doesn't seem to know how far she ran or have any sense of what direction she ran from before she finally found a phone and called us. She doesn't even remember what the building looked like."

"How can that be?" Giles asked. "Surely she must have noted something about it…"

Buffy rose from her chair and moved toward the fireplace, leaning against the wall alongside the edge of the mantle. "She said they were just 'suddenly in' it, almost like they walked right through a wall."

"Sounds like it was cloaked," Anya said, before asking curiously, "Has Willow been seeing a power dealer?" Her eyes grew wide. "Oh, my god! Is that how she got the power to resurrect Buffy? 'Cause that would be pretty scary. Purchased power is really unpredictable." Her eyes ran over Buffy as if she was searching for signs of instability.

"What are you talking about?" Buffy asked. A wave of fear passed through her. Unpredictable how?

"There are demons that deal in power," Spike explained. "Giving, taking." 

"Mostly taking," Anya added. "If you're stupid enough to go to one, that is. Which I'm not. I stay as far away from them as possible."

"When the bit talked about the building, it made me suspicious," Spike went on, leaning forward in his chair. "But Red would have to be…" His eyes met Buffy's. "This is bad mojo, Slayer."

"Whoa," Xander cautioned. "Step back. Let's not jump to any conclusions about Willow. She's too smart to get caught up in something stupid and scary." He paused, frowning. "And, ah, just how scary are we talking here?"

"Worse than being locked in a room full of fluffy hoppers," Anya said.

"And bloody dangerous for a bird like Red. Humans aren't power dealers' usual traffic, an' a human body isn't designed to take in different kinds of demonic power. Could lead to – complications."

"What do you mean?" Xander's fear for his friend's safety could be heard clearly in his voice. "What kind of complications?"

Anya shrugged. "Insanity. Coma. Death."

Xander's mouth dropped open in horror, and he sprang to his feet. "I am _not_ gonna lose another friend," he told them. "_Not. Happening._ We need to – "

"We will, Xander," Giles' tone was like a calming hand on the younger man's arm. "We'll get her. But we need to know what we're going into, so let's take a minute to learn what we can first. You know it's best to be prepared."

"I – yeah, okay." Xander was obviously reluctant, but seemed to understand the wisdom of Giles' words. He sank back down onto the sofa next to Anya, who ran her hand over his shoulder comfortingly.

"What exactly is a power dealer?" Giles asked.

"Not all demons have the same kinds of powers," Anya said. "So there are power dealers – demons who offer all sorts of extras. Whatever you don't have, they can probably get you. Demons might go to a dealer for simple things – increased physical strength for a big demony fight, or the power to cast a particular spell. Sort of a one shot deal. But, more likely, they go to get permanent powers they don't already have. Say you're a Jl'piper demon, and you want to be able to turn your enemies into seaweed, which, you know, would be really effective at getting them off your back since Jl'piper demons are desert dwellers. Or say, you want to destroy Paris – a very popular choice, but so far not successful – at least not completely… Or maybe –"

"Yes, yes, Anya, we get the idea," Giles interrupted. "Go on."

"Okay, so you're a demon and you want some sort of power you don't have – for a particular reason, or maybe just to wield it, who knows? A power dealer might be able to help you."

"So these guys just have all these different powers stored in some kind of warehouse? Wouldn't all demons go to them if they can hand out superpowers to anyone who comes along? Why haven't we heard of them before?" Xander asked.

Spike looked at Anya before replying. She tipped her head, deferring to him. "The powers might be contained within the dealer himself. He, or she, can take in huge amounts of power from different sources, sort of – store it – I guess, even if he can't access all of it himself. If he can't take the powr into himself, he might be able to store it in a vessel of some sort – orbs, crystals, talismans. Dealers are…" he grimaced. "This is dark magic. Deep. Bloody dangerous, too. Most demons aren't stupid enough to try to hook up with them. Seekers are usually desperate in some way, willing to take any risk. Or completely off their nut. Power dealers don't give things away for free. There's always a price, and it's rarely cash. Sometimes, it's just information. But it's usually more. The seeker might have a different kind of power, something the dealer wants. A little unique, maybe. Or the dealer might want a favor, and thinks the seeker is in a position to grant it. And even once a seeker thinks a deal has been struck, that they know what they've gotten themselves into…" He let his voice trail off. 

"It usually ends badly," Anya finished. 

"The price is never quite what the seeker thought," Spike added. "There tends to be a lot of fine print. And the real price is one anyone with half a brain would never agree to pay. It's like signing your name in blood with the devil." 

"That's a mistake, too." Anya looked at Xander sternly. "Never sign your name in blood for anything. Not even free premium channels." She paused, considering. "Not even porn."

"And there's always another fool that comes along that thinks he can outsmart the dealer, right?" Giles asked.

"Exactly."

"So it could be that this creature has been here for quite sometime." Giles concluded. "Working behind the scenes, so to speak."

Xander's hand moved expressively. "Doing his demon best to make the Hellmouth Hellmouthier. Should we be surprised by this?"

"Do either of you know where one of these dealers might be located?" Giles asked Spike and Anya.

"They're pretty rare, but what with the Hellmouth serving as Demon Central for most of the Western Hemisphere… Rumor has it there are a couple of them in town, maybe three," Spike said. "I don't know any of them, and like Anya said, their places are cloaked. Only demons can detect them, and the locations shift about."

"So they're always hightailing it from one building to another to avoid former customers who are now pissed off revenge-seeking demons?" Xander asked.

"You don't have to be pissed off to seek revenge," Anya said, patting her fiancé's knee. "In fact, it's better to keep a cool head when you want to kill someone you once did business with."

"I'll keep that in mind, Ahn," he replied.

His sarcasm went past her, as it often did. "Why? Is there someone you do business with you're thinking of killing? It's not that nice Mr. Kodell, is it? 'Cause he just gave you that promotion and a pretty hefty raise. He likes my breasts, too."

"_What?"_ Xander demanded.

"Oh, relax, Xander. He doesn't try to touch them or anything. My breasts are your exclusive playground. He just looks at them a lot." She glanced down with satisfaction. "As he should. They're very pert."

Buffy sighed in disgust as the eyes of every male in the room went to the other woman's chest. _Men, she thought. But her exasperation didn't stop her from crossing her arms over her own, rather less well defined, breasts. Unfortunately, Spike caught the defensive movement, and she could feel herself flushing as he smirked at her._

No need for that, love. You're perfect. 

Buffy's flush deepened as she seemed to hear his rumbling voice in her head, and Spike's smirk momentarily softened to intimacy before he brought the discussion back to power dealers.

"The location shifts with them."

Giles cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from Anya. "Really?" he began vaguely. "That's quite – ." His expression changed to one of awareness and confusion. "What? The buildings move?" 

"No. I don't know how they work, exactly, but they're sort of illusions," Anya replied.

"If only demons can detect these places, how would Willow know where to find one?" Buffy asked.

"She wouldn't," Anya said. "The first time, she would have to be invited by the dealer himself, which probably isn't going to happen unless she has something he wants. Or she might have been guided there by another customer. If the dealer is interested in her, he'd give her an open invitation to come back, and she'd develop the ability to sense the place – like one of those insect things, only, you know, mental."

"Huh?" Buffy's question was being asked by Spike's and Giles' expressions as well.

"She means a bug," Xander interpreted. "But I think she actually means a mental homing device of some sort. Is that right?"

Anya nodded, looking pleased that her intended understood her so well.

"So if she walked right in with Dawn, it sounds like this wasn't her first visit," Buffy said, her voice hard.

"Unfortunately, that would seem to be the logical conclusion," Giles agreed.

Buffy straightened from her lounging, and deceptively casual, position. It was obvious Willow was in danger. They didn't know if she'd fallen into it, or walked into it knowingly, but the danger still existed. To be honest, they didn't even know if they were on the right track, but walking through walls wasn't that common, and this was the best bet they had right now. "Can you detect these places, Spike?"

"Haven't been to a power dealer in more than fifty years, Slayer, but I'm still a demon. Should be able to track this bloke down."

"Good," she told him. "What kind of security are we going to run into?"

"Depends on the dealer." His eyes warmed in anticipation. "You know we can take on anything, love. Be a piece of cake."

"Since it seems only Spike can find this place, there's no sense in breaking into two teams," Buffy decided. Her eyes went to Xander and Giles. "When we get in, I want you two to do whatever you can to find Willow, and get her to safety. Spike and I will take care of the dealer and whatever defenses he has."

The men nodded, and her gaze swung to Anya. "I need you to stay with Dawn. Will you do that?" 

"I like Dawn duty," Anya said agreeably. "It's much less likely to cause me physical harm than fighting demons, and it's generally much easier on my clothing as well." She smiled. "Just leave me a big old axe, and we'll be fine."

"In the chest – there," Buffy indicated the weapons chest. "You'll need to monitor the phone, too. If Willow calls, get her location and call Xander's cell phone. We'll pick her up." Anya nodded. Buffy looked at the others, gathering her team together. "Xander, make sure your phone is on vibrate. I don't want it ringing at the wrong time and messing up any element of surprise we might have. Spike and I already have an axe and a sword in mom's SUV. You two grab whatever you want. Just remember – Willow is your first priority." She looked at the vampire. "We just drive around until you sense it?" she asked.

"Wish there was a faster way, Slayer, but the cloaking is bound to make location spells worthless, and this isn't the type of information we can beat out of someone at Willie's. Places like this shift about too much. Could be moving every few hours. Maybe more. They have to be sensed. Cruising up and down the streets is our best way to start."

Buffy led the men to the door. When she swung it open, though, their plans changed. Willow was standing on the porch, about to come in.

~*~

"Well, that certainly removes any doubt," Anya said under her breath, looking at Willow, who was stretched out on the sofa.

"What?" Xander asked. "She's drunk!"

"No, she's not," Anya said firmly. "She's assimilating power."

Xander stared at his oldest friend. She'd been unsteady on her feet, and had collapsed onto the cushions of the sofa almost as soon as she'd come into the room. She was mumbling and giggling in turns, and she looked pale and ill. Giles was in the kitchen, talking in low tones on the phone to someone in England. Buffy and Spike had disappeared into the dining room, leaving Xander and Anya alone with the witch.

"I've seen her drunk before," he said. "And _that_ is drunk."

He moved toward the redhead, and Anya grabbed at his arm. "Don't go any closer, Xander."

Angrily, he yanked his arm from her grasp, and stepped closer to bend over Willow. Immediately, the air around her began to crackle, and little arcs of something ran from her body into his, like static electricity gone wild.

He yelped in surprise and jumped back.

"I told you not to go any closer," Anya exclaimed. She looked him over carefully, checking for damage, and batted a hand at a small smoking hole in his t-shirt. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he muttered, staring at Willow in shock.

_What the hell was going on?_

Willow looked over at him. Her hand moved to her hair, and he gaped at the miniature bolts of lightning arcing between her fingertips and her head. She seemed completely unaware that anything odd was occurring.

"Hey, big buddy," she grinned.

~*~

In the dining room, Spike turned to Buffy. 

"I'm gonna go check on our girl."

Buffy frowned, studying him. She was surprised he didn't want to confront Willow.

"I can't, love," he answered her unasked question. "I hafta –" He paused, gathering himself. "I don't trust myself to be in the same room with her right now."

"But you – the chip…"

"Doesn't matter. Not right now, not the way I feel. I might go for it, so it's best I take myself out of the way. Besides, I know you and the Watcher can handle her. I'd just muck up the mix." He pulled her close, and pressed a somewhat distracted kiss to her temple. "I'll go sit with little sis. Be just a holler away if Red gets herself together and you need more muscle."

Buffy leaned into him briefly, touching her own mouth to his collarbone. "I hope Dawn's sound asleep," she commented as Spike stepped away. Her eyes went to the ceiling. "But even if she is, I'm sure she'd appreciate having you there. She was pretty upset."

"Yeah," he agreed. "She's run into demons before, and handled herself bloody well. 'm a bit surprised she was so shaky tonight."

"She's usually with someone else," Buffy reminded him. "You, me, at least one of the gang. Tonight she was alone."

Spike bent his head, staring at the floor. "I'm gonna find this thing, Slayer; the demon that went after her. Take it out. I give you my word."

His head came up and their eyes met. She could read his barely controlled rage, and his determination to seek revenge.

"Spike, don't…" she began to caution him.

"Don't what?" he gritted out.

"Don't – do anything _too reckless," she amended. _

Spike snorted softly at her obvious change of heart mid-sentence, and his grim expression lightened. "I'll do my best to make sure only the other bloke screams."

Buffy made a face. "You can make those screams really loud, right?"

"Oooh, there's my bloodthirsty Slayer," he approved, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Count on it, pet."

Buffy watched him saunter out of the room, and listened to the sound of his boots on the stairs. She'd been annoyed with him when he'd pressed Dawn to talk, but had soon seen how effective the discussion was in calming her sister. _And_ in reassuring her that she'd acted just as she'd been trained to. He so often seemed to know just what to do or say. Well, unless he was completely putting his foot in his mouth in a major way. But when he worked at it, he did pretty well, and he certainly had the touch with Dawn. She envied that. Even though her communication skills with her sister seemed to be improving, she still often felt like she was flailing about trying to find the right words in awkward situations, and, most of the time, failing.

~*~

Xander's eyes followed Spike as the vampire climbed the stairs, and he turned to Buffy as she stepped into the living room, his brows rising.

"The going gets tough and the Spikey skedaddles? Why am I so not surprised?"

Buffy frowned. Hadn't Spike been fighting alongside them all summer? Spike spent so much time with Dawn and Giles now that, for some reason, Buffy had assumed that his relationships with all of the others had improved as well. Of course, Willow had made some disapproving comments about him coming into her room in the middle of the night to wake her from her nightmares, and Spike mentioned that he and Willow didn't always see eye to eye. But surely, if they were all fighting together… 

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing. He's just ducking out, as usual."

"Ducking out? You're not suggesting Spike would duck out on a fight, are you? 'Cause I'd have to say, mostly – _no_."

"Okay, I guess he's usually around for the fights," Xander admitted. "At least lately. He's still avoiding being in the same room with all of us, though. He's hardly bothered to talk to anyone except Giles and Dawn since… well, since last spring. The Formerly Scary has developed quite the attitude."

"He just thought it might be better if he wasn't around Willow right now."

Xander's eyes went back to the redhead. "Is he afraid of her?" 

Buffy looked at their friend as well. "No," she said quietly. "He's furious."

Xander snorted. "I bet. He's probably –"

"Can we not do this now, Xander?" Buffy cut him off. "Willow needs to be our priority right now."

"I know," he nodded.

Buffy went the rest of the way into the living room, and Xander followed. Anya was leaning against a wall as far away from Willow as she could get, her arms crossed, and her eyes fixed warily on the witch. Giles' voice could still be heard in the kitchen. 

Buffy squared her shoulders, and approached the girl who had been her best friend for years.

~*~

"Oh, get off it. Dawn wasn't even with me. You really think I'd do something so reckless with our sweet little Dawnie? Pffft. Not a chance. Not even when she's being a whiny brat." Willow's voice dropped as she muttered to herself. "Which is a lot of the time."

"I have your note, Will."

Willow put her hands over her ears. "La, la, la, la, la. Not listening."

Buffy grabbed at her hands angrily, ignoring the crackling arcs that shot out at her. "You will listen, damn it. She was attacked! She could have been killed!"

"Liar! You'd say anything to try to keep me away from him, wouldn't you? So scared of a little power!"

Since she'd been brought back, Buffy had often been uncomfortable in Willow's presence. Sometimes, the other woman had even made her feel a bit twitchy, as she'd told Spike. But she was completely unprepared to see her old friend like this. It frightened her, made nerves twist sickeningly in her stomach. It hurt, too. Emotionally. How was it she hadn't realized…? 

"I don't know why you all seem to think having a little power is so scary, sooo bad!" Willow ranted. "Or maybe you're just worried 'cause it's _me_. Oooh, Buffy can have power, but not the little sidekick. Just 'cause I didn't get all _'chosen'_ and stuff – Well, guess what? _I chose myself!_ I got my powers the old fashioned way – I _earned_ them." She guffawed at her own cleverness, while the others stared at her helplessly. "I worked hard. Studied. Okay, then yeah, a little help, a little enhancement from this totally cool guy, but still! Mostly on my own! Not like _some people I could name – __Buffy Anne Summers," she identified under her breath. "Who think they're so special…"_

_You want my job? Buffy wanted to cry out. _You want to **be the Slayer?**_ And then her mind carried the thought further. _Then why did you bring me back? Why didn't you just take over? Why?_ Had Willow always felt like this? Buffy remembered her using the word 'sidekick' before. With accompanying anger. They'd sorta been under some kind of spell at the time, and she definitely wasn't herself right now, but still… Was this how she really felt? Was it like __in vino veritas or something? Only with magic instead of wine?_

"This 'totally cool guy' –" Buffy began.

"I was just walking down the street and – poof! He was right there in front of me. All helpful and understanding." Willow tried to sit up, but fell back weakly, looking even paler than she had when she'd first entered the house. "_He knows having power can be good! He's not like all of you… And he thinks I'm amazing!"_

"Who is this guy?" Buffy was rather surprised that she sounded so calm. "Does he have a name?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know? I'm not stupid, you know, like _some_ people I could name – _Buffy Anne Summers_," she muttered the clarification again. "If I tell you, you'll probably kill him, even though he hasn't done a thing." She seemed to consider that statement. "Nothing _wrong_, anyway. 'Cause that's, like, your solution to _everything_. Kill, kill, kill! Slay, slay, slay! 'Oooh, look at me! I'm the S.L.A.Y.E.R.'"

"For god's sake, Will. Knock it off." Buffy thought Xander looked as shaken and horrified by the disdain dripping from their friend's voice as she felt. His eyes flew to hers. "She doesn't mean it, Buff. You gotta know that. This is all some kind of magic-overdose induced – nothing. She doesn't even know what she's saying." 

"Of course I know what I'm saying!" Willow protested.

"Do you?" Buffy asked. "When did this 'poofing' happen?"

"It was that night!" Willow told her, obviously feeling triumphant that her memory was functioning and she could prove she knew what she was talking about. "That night you all told me how much you _cared_ about me, but how everything I was doing was _wrong, wrong, wrong! The night you said you'd kick me out of the house if I messed up again…"_

An enormous wave of relief flooded through Buffy. Apparently Willow hadn't met this demony power dealer guy until well after the resurrection, which probably meant she hadn't used any of the 'unpredictable' purchased power Anya had described in order to bring her back.

"Funny you should mention that, Will," Buffy began.

"Buff, I really don't think you should make any rash decisions," Xander tried to intervene.

Buffy's eyes were cool as she looked back at him. "There's nothing rash about it, Xan. I warned her, more than once."

"Warned who about what?" Willow chirped. "Oooh, where's my little witchiepoo? Oh, Tara! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

"Warned _you!_" Buffy said, her voice rising. God, she wanted to scream! She struggled to gain some control before she continued. "I care about you, Willow, I do. But you have some problems and you need to take care of them. And, I'm sorry, but you can't stay here while you do."

"Problems! Look who's talking, Miss Mopey-pants. The only time you've even smiled since I saved your life was the other night when we stayed in to watch that movie together. We all had fun, didn't we?" she said, with a sigh of satisfaction. "See? I made you happy! I can make you _all_ happy! There's nothing wrong with that. I'm so sick of everyone being all miserable and glum. All non-talky."

Buffy's eyes went wide. "You – you made all that happen? With me? And Dawn?" And then, horrified, "With Tara?"

"Yup!" Willow said with gleeful pride.

"Oh, god." The kissing, the intimate looks and touches between the two women… The whispered words about how they'd spent the last hour before dinner preparations began. Reconciling. _In bed. The nerves that had been twisting in her stomach morphed into nausea. "Willow, how could you? How could you do that?"_

Willow seemed to realize she'd made a tactical error. "Maybe you should forget I said that," the redhead said. "In fact, I could just make everyone forget I ever went to see that guy." Her voice held the unevenness of her inebriated-like state, but darkness still ran through it like a blackened cloud. "No need for any of you to remember anything else about tonight, either. Or, you know that forgetting spell? I could make you forget you forgot!" The blackness dissolved as she laughed uproariously at the idea. 

"Look," Willow began again, once her laughter had died down. Her voice was calm, reassuring. "I love you guys. You know that. I would never do anything to hurt any of you. This power thing? No biggie! Really. You can relax. I've got it _totally under control."_

Her eyes went from Buffy to Xander appealingly. When they didn't respond, she frowned, and the bursts of electricity around her increased, the air crackling, as her voice became a threat. "I _said_ I can control it. I can control _you_, too, you know. _Both of you. __All of you."_

"I think you'd better shut up," Xander said. He turned to Buffy. "You're right. She can't stay here."

Buffy reacted to the sadness and fear in his voice and reached out to squeeze his hand. "We'll get through this," she promised him. "We'll get _her through it."_

"Damn right we will," he said, and pulled Buffy into his arms. 

Buffy felt herself start to freeze up, but she forced herself to relax against her friend, and wrapped her arms around him as well. They held each other tightly, sharing their fears in the silent communication of hugging. Somewhat to her surprise, it felt good, almost – comfortable. Buffy sighed, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation. It was the first time since she's been brought back that she'd felt close to Xander, and she realized how much she missed their camaraderie.

Anya, who had refused to take a step closer to Willow, joined them now, wrapping her arms around them both fiercely. "I know it's scary when one of your friends goes insane," she offered. "But Tara recovered when Glory sucked her brains out, so I'm thinking insanity isn't nearly as permanent as death." She smiled reassuringly. "Normal, non-Buffy deaths, I mean." She patted the Slayer on the back. "Your deaths never seem to be permanent. And, really, we've been through worse things. Multiple apocalypses, for instance." She looked from Buffy to Xander and back again. "Right?"

Buffy looked into Anya's bright, hopeful eyes. Unable to help herself, she gave a huff of amusement. 

"You're right, Ahn, we have. And we'll get through this, too."

"Oh, look, bonding!" Willow cooed. "So sweet. Even with the vengeance demon!"

Anya swung around to glare at Willow, her hands planting themselves firmly on her hips. "I'm not a demon anymore, missy," she said. "And right now, I think I'm a hell of a lot less scary than you! Probably more human, too!"

"You'll never be human," Willow said. "You're just playing at it. Taking human form, like some kind of pod person or something equally icky."

Anya's stricken expression brought Buffy's anger back to the fore. "That's enough, Will."

Buffy stared at Willow, who was mumbling to herself again. Her own silent argument was raging. _I can't. You have to. It's __Willow__. It's Dawn. Dawn's safety. She's your oldest friend. Dawn could have** died. **And _Willow___ doesn't even remember that Dawn was with her! You can do this. You already said it earlier. Just because __Willow__ didn't seem to take it in…_

"I'm sorry, Will," Buffy said, regret in every line of her body. Regret and determination. "I wish I didn't have to do this. But you have a problem, and I have a sister to protect. I warned you, told you what the consequences would be, and you ignored those warnings." God, this was so hard. "You're going to have to move out."

Willow collapsed into giggles again. "Oh, yeah, right. Meek little Buffy who's hardly said a word since I saved her life, is gonna kick me out?"

"Yes, she is. And her meek little Watcher is going to take you to his apartment until you're in a fit state to be delivered to your parents." Giles entered the room from the kitchen, and came to the foot of the sofa, where he stared down at the young woman still lying stretched across it. He looked tall and fierce and completely intimidating. The steely expression in his eyes matched the tone of his voice. "Xander, Anya, could you please put together some of her things? Enough for a few days? We'll get the remainder of her belongings packed tomorrow."

His eyes went to Buffy. "Where's Spike?"

"Upstairs with Dawn."

"Get him. Dawn can join us, too, if she's awake. As soon as Xander and Anya are finished, we're going to have a little talk."

~*~

A simple sleeping spell had sent Willow, blessedly, into unconsciousness. None of them were sorry to hear the flow of words from her mouth end.

Dawn remained soundly sleeping in her own bed.

"My friend in Devon, Caia, was able to give me a spell that should be strong enough to contain Willow once she's assimilated the powers she took in tonight. When I described her condition, Caia seemed to think we would need to keep her contained for about three days. We can do this at my apartment. The containment spell and Willow's reaction to it may be, from what I was told, rather unpleasant, and I don't want Dawn to see her like that, if possible. But she'll need to be watched constantly, and I'll need all of you to take turns helping with that. I can't do it myself over that length of time."

"Of course you can't," Xander agreed. "I'll come home with you tonight."

"Thank you, but I shan't be needing anyone until sometime tomorrow. She'll sleep through the rest of the night now, and the power won't kick in until mid-morning at the earliest."

"I'll come over tomorrow as soon as Dawn leaves for school," Buffy said.

Spike looked at Xander and Anya. "If you two want to take the late afternoon, early evening shift, I can spend the nights, hang about 'til the Slayer can get over in the morning. That way the Watcher will never be alone with her."

Giles waited for the engaged couple to nod their agreement. "Good. There's something else we need to take care of right away. A protection spell."

"Protection? From this power dealer?" Xander asked. "Will he come after her? Us?"

"Protection from Willow," Giles corrected.

"From Will? Why? Isn't that kind of jumping the gun? And should we be messing with anything else magic related right now? What if we overload the house or something? Besides, we really don't know exactly what's happening with her. She _is_ our friend, though, and it's not like she'd ever _hurt us."_

"I'm sorry, Xander, but I'm not so sure about that." Buffy filled them in on the happenings of the movie evening. "I didn't even realize anything was off. Not until she said something tonight."

"Getting you to laugh at a movie and have popcorn wars with your sister isn't exactly a huge, hurting, mass of evil."

"No, but she was enjoying moving us around like chess pieces." Since Willow had gleefully confessed that she'd made them all 'happy', Buffy had been thinking a lot about the events of that day. It had seemed normal. But now, as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes, she was seeing those events from a much clearer perspective. "_She altered my thoughts. _I was all excited about using magic to make supper, to fight demons. It just wasn't me. I never think like that. And…" Buffy paused. "And the things she did, the ways she manipulated Tara…"

"You mean –?" Xander read her expression. "Oh god." He looked sick.

"Has anyone else experienced anything odd with Willow?" Giles asked.

"I think we did," Xander said slowly, indicating himself and Anya. "We had plans to go out together. When Willow arrived, Anya suddenly remembered an appointment she had, so Will and I had dinner together alone."

"Later, I couldn't even remember Willow stopping over," Anya finished. She looked at Xander, her expression disturbed. "We thought it was just something stupid – the stress of wedding plans or something."

"But nothing harmful occurred?"

"Not that I can think of."

"It's harmful enough that she's orchestrating some of our thoughts and actions. I had something odd happen myself." Giles told them about the papers concerning Buffy's resurrection that Willow had brought to him. He realized now that they were totally inadequate, but he'd been pleased as punch when she handed them to him with a smile. He winced, remembering how he'd been almost gushing in his gratitude. _Apologetic_ for taking up her time.

"Caia was able to give me a fairly good protection spell. It would be better if we could get someone a bit more experienced to perform it, but under the circumstances, that may not be –"

"I know someone," Spike volunteered.

"What?"

"I k now someone who can do the protection spell we need," he elaborated. "Had her do one on me already. It worked." He looked at Buffy. "When I stopped in to tell you about that demon the other night, I could sense Willow's thoughts, the little 'suggestions' she was making to me. At the time, I thought it was just me. It wasn't until you couldn't remember the movie you'd been watching…"

"You told me she'd messed with your head before…"

"Yeah. Didn't much care for it either. Decided to take steps to put a stop to it."

"And her suggestions had no effect on you?" Giles asked.

"Didn't say that," Spike said. "They brassed me off good and proper. But I didn't have any trouble not falling in line."

"Who did this spell for you?"

"Reliable type. White witch. Name of C'erdd-Circe of Gwen."

_"Of Gwen?" Xander repeated in disbelief._

"'s not like I _named the bint, lackbrain."_

"Where the hell is 'Gwen'? Next to Oz?" He glanced at the others to clarify. "As in 'Land of', not short, and, _god, I wish he was still around, werewolf friend." _

"It probably has something to do with her coven," Giles inserted. "Or perhaps it refers to some powerful witch of yore."

"Oh, of _yore_," Xander nodded. "_That_ should make her completely trustworthy. Well, that, and Spike's recommendation."

"Look, you stupid prat, I didn't bring up the idea of you lot getting some protection."

"Good, 'cause we look to you for advice _so often."_

So much for the mistaken impression that these two stubborn _guys_ were getting along better, Buffy thought. Apparently, they just hadn't been together in the same room for more than two minutes since she'd come back. The hostility flowing between them now was so thick she couldn't have sliced it with her sharpest axe.

"Might be an idea for you to start. Your little pal is into things way over her head. And by her own words, directing your lives would be just fine with her. Do you _want to spend your life balancing a ball on your nose like some sort of trained seal, falling in with Red's every whim?" Spike ran his eyes over the young man. "I'm sure you could do the barking and the flipper clapping bits pretty well."_

"That's enough, both of you," Giles' tone was flinty.

"I would not be falling in with her every whim!" Xander ignored the Watcher.

"Sure you would, honey. You did for Dracula, didn't you? It'd be the same." Anya nodded with calm assurance.

Buffy frowned. _Dracula?_ Count Dracula, the famous vampire? She felt something shift uncomfortably inside her. Memory. That particular one hadn't crossed her mind since she's gotten most of her memories back. 

_Dracula. _

Her hand flew to her throat for a second. Quickly, guiltily, she pushed it back into her lap, hoping no one had noticed.

~*~

"You were Drac's bug-eater?" Spike smirked, enjoying the sight of Harris squirming. "Oh, I'd've paid to see that!"

"No," Xander corrected. "I was his _emissary."_

"Right," the vampire drawled. "Which was tastier, Renfield-for-a-Day, the spiders or the cockroaches?"

"Spike, Xander, that's enough," Buffy firmly repeated Giles's words, but she had a strange expression on her face, and Spike looked at her thoughtfully, his eyes intent. Her eyes slid away uncomfortably, and one of her shoulders lifted in an odd little shrug. Spike stiffened and stared at her neck.

Sonofabloodybitch! 

More than a dozen much more vicious curses pounded through his brain, as fury flooded him.

That glory-hound had tasted her! That _bitch._ That _bloody bitch_ had bared herself to that soddin' publicity hungry ponce of a… 

"Well, I wasn't rolling in the pit of lust with the Dark Master's vamp-honeys, like some people I could name," Xander went on, obviously planning to ignore Buffy as well as the Watcher.

Everyone's eyes shifted to Giles. Everyone's but Spike's.

"And you weren't anywhere to be found, were you?" Xander turned his attention back to the blond. "Dracula too much for you?" he taunted.

"Wasn't asked, was I? Soldier boy figured he had it all in hand."  His tone, vicious and sarcastic, had Buffy's eyes swinging back to him. He glared into them and she frowned. "Take out the famous vamp, impress his Superhoney, win her_ exclusive_ and undying love and devotion."

"Spike?" she questioned. "What's wrong?"

Rage was rolling off of him, and everyone in the room could feel it. 

"Not. A. Bloody. Thing. Slayer," he growled, rising. "You lot can chit-chat about the protection spell; decide whether or not you want the witch traipsing though your heads. I'm off."

He swept up his duster and moved to the door, stabbing his arms into the sleeves.

~*~

Buffy followed him onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind her.

"What was that all about?" she demanded. 

His jaw and fists were clenching rhythmically. 

Control. 

He stared at her neck, and her hand flew to the scars there. She could feel herself flushing. It was dark, but she knew he'd be able to see the flood of color, be able to hear the blood rushing through her veins.

"Spike –"

"Got things to kill, Slayer," he grated out.

"Spike –"

His fist smashed into the door near her head, and her body jerked in surprise.

_"Not. Now."_ His eyes were hard, and his voice remained coldly furious.

Buffy's chin came up, her own expression hardening, and even though she tried to keep her voice calm, some of that hardness had crept into it. 

"I have a sister upstairs who could be having nightmares for the next month," she told him. "And an old friend who has apparently lost her mind to deal with. If you're going to go all bad/weird moody on me, you can stay away until I can deal with it. Which, I'm warning you, isn't gonna be tonight or tomorrow. And it's not looking good for the rest of the week either."

He was breathing hard now, his head lowered, jaw still clenched. His hands, though, had stopped their rhythmic fisting. His head came up slowly, and his eyes pinned her in place.

"You…" he began.

He broke off, and instead of finishing his thought, he swooped down on her. His arms wrapped fiercely around her body, and he hauled her off her feet, and up against him, burying his face in her throat. She was shocked when she felt his teeth, blunt but still strong, biting against the scars on her neck. He wasn't hurting her, and unless he started to suck at her throat, he wouldn't leave marks, but there was nothing remotely casual about the action, either. 

Mine. _Mine. **Mine.** _

She could almost feel the possessive vibrations rolling off his body, could almost hear him mentally staking some kind of claim.

"Spike, stop it. Right. Noooow…"

She jerked herself out of his arms, shoving him an arms length away. She _had_ to. Even though his mouth was moving in a very different way, just having it pressed against her throat again was flooding her with memories of earlier. Of that unexplained and unbelievable experience on the sofa. And, oh, god, but she couldn't afford to let that memory affect her now. No matter how arousing she found it. No matter that it, combined with the feel of his body, hard and strong against hers, hungry and… 

…she _couldn't_. Couldn't do anything about it. _Not now. _There. Are. People. Right. On. The. Other. Side. Of. This. Door. Wrong time, wrong place. People waiting.

Spike's eyes changed, took on a gleam, almost like she'd issued a challenge. He stepped right back up to her, determination in every line of his body. His hands found hers, and he twined their fingers together as he backed her into the door. He brought their hands up and rested them against the wood on either side of her head. His demeanor had changed, too. He might still be angry, but it seemed his anger had been tempered by…

You. 

His body leaned into her, his weight pressing her further into the door, as he wedged his knee between her legs. It separated them, and, oh god, he slid his thigh up tightly against her body, just as he'd done that night at the Bronze. And then he seemed to just melt onto her. His entire body began to move against hers in an extremely suggestive manner, making her catch her breath. She moaned softly as his teeth moved back to her throat, biting again with light pressure.

"Spike…" There was still a hint of warning in the single word, but the passion flooding her was drowning out the protest. She knew him. He'd be able to feel it, to sense it in her body, even if her mouth didn't say it out loud. She groaned out his name again. "Spiiike..."

Slayer… _You're bloody well **mine.**_

Buffy wound her hands into his hair, and forcibly pulled his mouth away from her throat, guiding it instead to hers. She kissed him with her own show of passion and determination, and he responded eagerly, kissing her back, his tongue tangling with hers as he continued to move his body against hers in the most wonderful ways, arousing her, making her wish…

"Sonofa…" Spike yanked his mouth away from Buffy's, shocking her with the sudden movement. His hands left her body, and she felt a jolt of sadness at the loss as he stepped away from her.

A second later, Buffy heard the approaching footsteps from inside the house. Damn, damn, damn. She'd been getting all – hot – and her body was practically shaking as she levered herself away from the door.

She succeeded just as it swung open, and Xander appeared.

"You still here, deadboy?"

"Jes' leaving." He nodded to Buffy coolly. "I'll try to stop by in the morning if I can get about, check on the bit." 

Buffy stared. How could he look so calm and detached? 

_Jerk._

Her eyes drifted over him, coming to rest on his wildly disarrayed hair. Her lips curved in a satisfied little smirk, as little sparks of possessiveness darted through her. He hadn't been so detached a few minutes ago. He'd been all – _a_ttached. To _her_.

"I'm sure she'll be fine without you," Xander said. 

"Wasn't talkin' to you, Harris."

"She'd like that," Buffy ignored their exchange and addressed Spike, forcing her voice to match his in tone. "But don't do anything foolish trying to get here. She can wait 'til the sun goes down."

"You know, Spike, Buffy's back. She's _the Slayer. Chances are, she can watch out for Dawn all by her leeedle old vampire-staking self. And her _friends_ can watch out for her. You really don't need to be stopping by all the time any more. __Or ever."_

Spike snorted.

Buffy's eyes asked him not to get into it. _ Not now. Please, not now. I just want everyone to leave so I can go check on Dawn. _

Spike's eyes stayed on hers as he lit a cigarette, and she watched as he straightened suddenly, his hand going to his hair. He smoothed it, took a drag of his smoke, then inclined his head and turned away.  __

"What was he in a snit about?" Xander asked, after Spike had disappeared into the darkness.

"He didn't really say," Buffy evaded, though she was certain that Spike had somehow known Dracula had drunk from her, and was extremely displeased about that. Then she froze, as realization washed over her. _He didn't say… _"Oh. My. God."

"What is it? Buff?"

Anya came to the door then and distracted Xander just enough that her mumbled "Nothing" went unchallenged. Buffy went back into the house, and closed the door behind her without even saying goodnight to the couple. 

~*~

Xander and Anya looked at the closed door, then at each other, and shrugged, before going down the porch steps.  

"Were Buffy and Spike fighting again?" Anya asked. She smiled at him. "'Cause that would be just like old times. Buffy getting back into the groove of living, like you've been hoping." 

"I dunno. Maybe Buffy had already kicked his ass, at least verbally, before I got out here. But there was definitely something in the air reminiscent of better days." Xander sounded pleased. "I wonder what…" He frowned, considering, and understanding dawned quickly. He snapped his fingers. "Riley. As soon as his name came into the conversation, Spike went all growly." Xander's lips curved with amusement. "Probably reminded him of all his inadequacies. And about how _really_ far removed he is from the kind of guy Buffy goes for."

They reached the end of the Summers sidewalk and turned toward their apartment. 

"Buffy did seem more normal tonight, though, didn't she?" Xander asked his fiancée to confirm his observations. 

"She wasn't hiding in her room, if that's what you mean."

Xander smiled faintly. "Getting involved, _talking – that's new – acting all 'Let's go get 'em' Slayerish."_

"Well, it's the first time she'd had to since she came back, isn't it? Be the Slayer?" Anya observed. "Sunnydale has been experiencing a remarkable lack of evilness lately. I don't know if I should relax, or if I should pack my bags and hightail it out of here. You know, lickity-split."

"The day to day uncertainty of life on the Hellmouth," Xander agreed. He thought he'd grown, in some ways, comfortable with that.

"I heard Giles and Spike talking one day about her instincts, and how they hadn't quite kicked in. Dawn getting attacked probably threw them into high gear. Made her wanna take charge and slay evil." Anya jabbed an encouraging fist into the air. "Go, instincts."

Seemingly not too concerned over the events of the evening, she swung along in carefree manner for a couple of blocks while, at her side, Xander was pondering things vastly more important than Spike, and even, he thought with some guilt, slightly more important than Buffy. Or, at least, Buffy at this minute. 

_Willow__._

Xander assured himself that it was okay to be more worried about Willow right now than Buffy. Plus there was the whole 'best friends since forever' loophole of caringness priority. The two girls seemed to be heading in opposite directions; Buffy, possibly, hopefully,_ finally, up, and Willow, scarily, maybe down. After all the emotional upheavals the group had gone through in the last year, he couldn't help wishing they'd both pull themselves together and even out. And, if they couldn't do that alone, he wished he knew how he could help them. He didn't think he'd been any help to Buffy at all, and it hurt that he couldn't seem to reach her, couldn't seem to figure out __how. His connection to Willow had always been deeper. Would he be able to be of any help to her? And just how badly did she need help? There was definitely something wrong with her, but he still wasn't sure… A protection spell seemed kinda over the top. It was Willow after all. __Willow__. _

"I don't get this," Xander said. "This whole thing with Willow. I still say she was acting drunk. What's the magic draw to that? If she wants to get all intoxicated, high, whatever, why doesn't she just plant herself on a barstool at the Bronze, and line up the Jaeger-Bombs? Knowing Willow's tolerance to alcohol, it would only take two or three to give her the same effect." He considered that. "Well, maybe four. She looked pretty plastered."

And God, the things she'd been saying to Buffy! Where the hell had all that come from? It couldn't be what she really thought, could it? The kill, kill, kill stuff, and the things she'd said about Buffy being stupid? Is that what she thought about him too? The stupid part? He knew his friend was a lot smarter than him, and Will had never deliberately put him down, but now he wondered what she might have been thinking privately. He hated his damned insecurities, had thought he was moving past most of them, outgrowing them… Funny how old fears could jump up and bite you in the ass when you weren't expecting it. Yeah, funny. Hysterical even.

And if Willow hadn't meant that stuff, what in god's name was she doing spouting it out like that? He didn't understand what was happening to his oldest friend, or why. Ahn knew a lot more about these 'power dealers'…

"It's not the magic. That's just an avenue to the power. And it's not tonight," Anya told him matter-of-factly. "Tonight's the bad part. She looks drunk, but like I told you, it's just her body assimilating the power. What Willow's looking for is the payoff she'll get tomorrow. If she got a pretty good dose, and it looks like she did, it will probably last two or three days. She'll be all with the oozing of the power, and looking for ways to use it all willy-nilly."

"Using it how? To cast spells? She can do that already. Great Balls of Fire, Ahn! She brought Buffy back from the dead! I'd say she's _got _power."

"Yeah, that's how it starts," Anya's voice suggested she's seen it all too many times to count. "First you're helping out, you fix some little things, help save the world once or twice, bring someone back from hell. Before you know it, you find out you_ like _the power, like wielding it, and that you want _more. A lot more, sometimes. And maybe you discover that you _don't_ like it so much when you're _not _controlling things. It can get to be a real problem." Anya nodded sagely._

"You really think Willow wants to control us?"

"Didn't you hear her tonight? 'I could control all of you!' That seems pretty straightforward to me." Anya eyed him with some surprise. "Didn't you know?"

"No!"

"Really?" Her expression deepened from surprise to disbelief. "I thought you knew. 'Cause, you know, you do everything she wants."

"No, I don't," Xander denied automatically, but a frown creased his brow, and he began looking at his past with Willow, trying to see if there was any basis for Anya's statement.

"In a lot of ways, you've always kind of gone along with her, Xander. But didn't you see it growing last summer? She wanted to be in charge of all the patrolling plans, assign the duties, lay out all the demon hunting details. God, and didn't she just have fits about Spike, who didn't always toe the party line?" Anya rolled her eyes. "Believe me, she'd have zapped him into another dimension if she thought no one would've noticed. And," Anya shrugged, "She probably didn't know how. _Then, anyway. She might now. Of course she never would have asked me. _'Why ask the former vengeance demon? Like she knows anything worthwhile!'" __

Xander winced. They'd just set the wedding date for June and with the plans underway, Anya had been growing increasingly verbal about feeling she often came in second to Willow or Buffy, _or maybe both of them, in his life. Willow, especially, she insisted, still made very little effort to get to know her or even pretend to like her, and never seemed to think she had anything to contribute to conversations or Scooby meetings. Even, Anya had pouted, on the rare occasions she __did. Willow's attitude had always bothered Anya more than Buffy's more detached, er, detachment. His fiancee's sarcastic impersonation of Willow now made him shift uncomfortably. He'd tried to get the two of them to work out their problems months ago. Troll. Hammer. Babies being threatened. Couldn't women just learn to get along?_

"And, I'll have you know," Anya went on. "I've zapped plenty of men into other dimensions. My favorite was the dimension with nothing _but_ men. Gives them a chance to _really_ see what it's like trying to live with them!"

_Ah, the battle of the sexes,_ Xander thought._ One of life's constants._

"God, Xander, we even had to vote her 'the boss of us' just so it was all 'official'." Anya made air quotes around 'the boss of us', and 'official'. "And she'd get annoyed when anyone questioned her about the resurrection spell, or if any of us asked for any details. Don't you remember?"

Yeah, he kind of did. She'd gotten downright snippy about it a few times, with him, or with Tara. She'd always apologized not long after, explaining that she was researching half the night, and blaming her quick temper on fatigue. But Ahn was right; the annoyance only really flared up when someone questioned her. He'd been worried about her, concerned about how hard she was working, and he'd sorta stopped with the asking, just to make things less stressful for her. 

"Not that any of us really questioned her much," Anya had to admit. "Especially after she bit Tara's head off that night when she asked about the wisdom of getting magic supplies off of e-bay. Of course I agree with Willow on that point. Sometimes e-bay is your only recourse for those hard to find items. Unicorn dander, for instance. And it's a perfectly acceptable place to shop. Convenient, too, especially with Pay-Pal. I order things there all the time. Never had a problem," she informed him, complacently. 

Xander remembered that particular Willow/Tara argument pretty clearly, too. It had _not been a pleasant exchange._

"And, of course, you'll notice she kept Giles and Spike out in the cold about the whole resurrection spell. They probably would have asked a lot more questions than we did. And they'd have demanded answers, even if Willow did get defensive and all _'How dare you question me?'_ when they asked, like she did with us."

"I don't remember her ever saying that," Xander pointed out.

"Not out loud, no. But her eyes said it all the time. Giles and Spike wouldn't have backed down like we did. And did you notice how the _'time was right'_ and _'everything was in alignment'_ the minute Giles left for England?"

Xander hadn't thought of the exclusion of Giles and Spike quite that way. And the timing had just been coincidence, surely?

_'Don't call me Shirley'_ flashed through his mind automatically. Sometimes humor was a curse.

"Willow explained about Giles," he reminded her. "You know, how he'd be all British and stuffy about what was proper, would raise all kinds of objections, and probably try to delay things forever while he researched for so long that if he ever did give the go-ahead, we'd be casting the spell from our adjoining beds in Sunnydale Manor." Xander took a needed breath. "Buffy was in hell, suffering. Did we really wanna wait for Giles to say okay? And what if he went a step further, and insisted on contacting the Council?"

Anya raised a brow. "And Spike?"

"Spike is not a part of our group," Xander said, his irritation sounding in his voice. 

"No, he just patrolled, and did most of the demon killing, and, when he wasn't taking care of Dawn, he worked out all the time, so that he would be able to do a better job of protecting the town."

"Look, I know Spike helped out," Xander admitted. "But that doesn't make him someone we can trust."

"What does?" Anya was genuinely curious.

"Nothing. Spike cannot be trusted. Ever. _No. Soul._" Xander said firmly. "And Willow didn't ask Spike to help with the spell because he always acted so much better than us. Willow was right about his messing up her plans half the time. He always thought he knew better than us, never seemed to understand the whole teamwork concept. How could we ask someone like that to help out in a spell that was really complicated and had to be followed perfectly? There was no telling what he might do!"

"You're not forgetting that Spike is a vampire, are you?"

"I never forget that, Ahn."

"Well, fighting is what vampires _do_. Now, Spike is still just a young fella, but he's still a hundred years older than you, and I'm guessing he knows more about demons and fighting than you and Willow, and maybe even Giles, all put together, do. So if he went his own way in a fight, it was probably because he could see a better way to win, no matter what Willow had planned. Teamwork? No, not his thing, but he was getting the job done. 

"The resurrection, though? That's a different story. You're right that the spell couldn't be messed with once it was in progress. But any problems from Spike would have come while the details were being worked out. He'd have gotten his questions answered then. If you really think he'd have done something during the spell that might have endangered Buffy, you don't know a single thing about him. And what exactly do you mean, he acted so much better than us?"

"Why are you defending him?" 

"Is that what I'm doing?" she asked. "I thought we were having a conversation about Willow and who she thought she could and couldn't control."

"It sounds like you're defending him to me. And what do you think I meant? He spent the whole summer not talking to us. Too good to talk things over, or to listen to our opinions. He could only talk to _Giles,_ couldn't he? Couldn't even stay for pizza with us, or watch a movie unless Dawn asked him. And he'd just glare at us once in a while when he wasn't too busy refusing to sully himself by looking us in the eye."

After Glory had tortured Spike, Xander had felt a slight shift in his opinion of the vampire. God, the guy had been so smashed up! And when they'd discovered that he hadn't talked, even during all that… Okay, maybe the tiniest bit of grudging respect. An almost infinitesimal glimmer. Maybe. And he'd fought by their sides against Glory, had started to be someone they could almost depend on… But any tendencies toward acceptance of the blond had seemed to fade away as the summer months slipped by. That icy remoteness of his, the cold, empty eyes… There was nothing human in Spike, and Xander knew they couldn't afford to forget that. 

Anya stopped walking altogether, and stared at her fiancé in amazement. "Alexander Harris! Are you blind?"

"What?" he demanded.

"_He blamed himself for Buffy's death and he couldn't face any of you – didn't want to see the accusations in your eyes. God, he hated himself so much that he practically let the guilt eat him alive!"_

"Guilt? He doesn't _feel_ guilt, Anya. You should know that. No soul, no conscience, no guilt." _Where the hell had she gotten that idea? None of them had _ever_ suggested that Spike had screwed things up. And none of them thought he __had. At least, _he_ didn't, and he'd never heard any of the others suggest anything like that. And even if they had felt that way, even if they'd openly blamed him, Spike still wouldn't feel guilt. He _couldn't._ _

"You _are _blind," she said, and anger had entered her tone, replacing the incredulity. "What do you think turned him into a skeleton?"

"Giles thought it was poison on the knife Doc stabbed him with."

"Right! And it affected Spike, but not Dawn, who was stabbed with the same knife. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense." She shook her head. "It was guilt and grief. _He was in mourning_. You know," she said bitterly, "_That soulless thing – _mourning the woman he loved."

"You just don't get it, do you?" Xander demanded. "Spike can't love!" He was calling the words out after her, though, because Anya had turned away and had moved off swiftly down the sidewalk. She wasn't running, but her pace was fast and angry, and Xander was puffing a little when he finally caught up with her less than a block from their home. His hand curled about her arm as he drew her to a stop.

"Why are you so upset about this, Ahn?"

"Sometimes, you're just so –" she paused, trying to contain herself. "You're a bigot, Xander Harris," she told him, her voice tense.

"Because I don't like Spike?" he was incredulous. "Well, sorry, Ahn. If not having a lot of love for someone who's killed thousands of people, and has tried, more than once, to kill people I care about, makes me a bigot, then call me Archie Bunker."

"He's one of the good guys, now, isn't he?"

"Spike?!"

"Yeah, _Spike," Anya insisted. "You know, the guy who looks after Buffy and Dawn like he's their guardian angel or something."_

"Oh, please! Let's never use _that_ word in association with Spike. It just doubles the misery of thinking of him if I have to think of Angel, too." Xander attempted to calm his breathing. The whole subject of Spike grated on his nerves. And now that the image of Angel had been thrown into the mix, he just might fall over the edge into real anger. There was a whole truckload of issues involving the older vampire that he didn't want to get into. 

At least Angel had a soul. Part of the time, anyway. Spike didn't even have that. He could never understand why Buffy, the Vampire _Slayer_, always seemed to have a _vampire_ somewhere in her entourage. 

For that matter, he'd never gotten why either of the vampires in question, once they didn't/couldn't kill humans anymore, had decided it would be an idea to hook up with the Slayer. Did they just wake up one morning thinking, _'Hey, I think I'll look up the one person in the world who should be my most mortal enemy, and see if I can't go hang with her? I'll fight at her side once in a while, make sexual advances that either hurt her or piss her off, or both, and generally bring assorted massive problems into her otherwise dull world.' _Maybe that's why they'd done it, Xander thought. _'Can't kill her, so I'll get my jollies by screwing with her life in other ways…'_ And boy, didn't _that_ sound like a Spike line of reasoning? In fact, that _had_ been a Spike line of reasoning. Witness Adam.

"Look, he might be playing at the semi-helpful/morally ambiguous thing right now. But we can never trust him, never forget what he's done in the past. He was a killer, Ahn. And, believe me, he'd still be killing if he didn't have that chip in his head. He'd be enjoying it, too. Have you ever watched his face during a fight? _He likes killing__._ He _likes being a monster. I never, ever, forget that we are one short circuit away from being dinner to him, and anyone who does is living in the land of denial big time._

"He's changing –"

"Demons don't change. Spike said that himself."

"So why should he try?" Anya was clearly still angry. "After all, he can never overcome his past, can he? That's what you believe."

Xander's focus changed as he realized how his words could be misconstrued by her. God, he thought they'd dealt with this. "Ahn, it's different with you, you know that. You're human now. You're not a demon anymore, and never will be again. You're new, a new being. You, Anya, cannot be held responsible for what Anyanka did." He looked down into her face seriously, and brushed his hands over her hair, the gesture tender. "Is that what this is all about? This defense of Spike?"

Anya just gazed up at him silently, but he could see the worried, warring emotions in her eyes.

"I never equate you with that thing, Ahn. And I never will. I love you. I wanna spend my life with you, have children with you."

Anya closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned her cheek against his hand. "You love me? Really love me?"

"Yeah. You know I do."

"Just the way I am?"

"Yeah. Every smile, every curve, every thought, every hair color."

"Are you sure?"

He smiled. It was time to lighten the gloomy mood. "Sure as shootin', pardner," he drawled.

Xander wanted to drop this whole topic, and using the cowpoke talk usually worked. Lighthearted teasing, possibly followed by sex. Anya was _always_ in the mood for sex.

But she surprised him. "I'm tired," she said. "And I don't feel like doing the 'ride 'em, cowgirl' routine tonight. Let's just go home and get some sleep."

"Alright," Xander agreed, letting the cowpoke talk go. He got a kick out of it sometimes, and Ahn usually went along with it. For some reason, the cowpoke talk also reminded him of Riley. Um, not the cowpoke during sex talk. That definitely did _not remind him of Riley. No. He didn't think of Riley and sex together. But the cowpoke talk brought to his__ completely heterosexual mind memories of his farm-raised guy F.R.I.E.N.D., even though Xander was pretty iffy on whether or not Iowa farm boys actually said things like 'Smile when you say that, pardner'._

He missed the big lug.

Shrugging, Xander slipped his arm around Anya's shoulders, tugging her close, and they walked the last block home together.

~*~

Author's Notes:

Finally! Geesh! Am I going to be saying that after every chapter? Honestly, I was home from the (wonderful) gymnastics meet for about two days when my (still new, mind you) computer died again (scream, rant!), and they had it in for repairs for two and a half weeks! I'm beginning to think I'm cursed or something. Or perhaps it's just the computer itself…

For those of you who misunderstood the gymnastics thing – my daughter was NOT competing. She's retired. And it was gymnastics – you know, beam, bars, vault, floor. NOT cheerleading. Plus, she was wonderful when she was competing, and very good, but never aspired to this level. Sorry for the confusion. We had a great time, though. Four days of gymnastics is like heaven for us. There was much bonding, and mutual drooling over guys with great bods. Next year – the Olympic Trials! Woo-hoo!

I want to take a minute to thank those who have been nominating 'Journeys' all over the web for awards, to those who've voted for it in popular vote award contests, and to the judges who've chosen it over some wonderful competition to receive other awards. Thank you! It's much appreciated. 

But especially, as always, thanks to everyone who's reading. I'm thrilled that you're enjoying the story, and sticking with it through these long waits between chapters.

Mary

July 13, 2003

Author's Additional Note to those reading at FF.net: 

I rarely get much in the way of feedback directly at FF.net. I'm not begging, mind you, but I am curious if this story is being read much here, or if most readers are following it at other sites. If you'd like to let me know, I'd appreciate it. Thanks!


	13. Awakenings Chapter Thirteen

**Journeys**

**by**** Mary**

**Part Two: Awakenings**

BY starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

—Herbert Trench 

See notes, etc. preceding chapter one.

This chapter contains harsh language, violence, and some sexual references. It should be considered a hard R. If anyone disagrees with this rating, please contact me, pointing out specifics. 

**Chapter Thirteen**

"When we found out about Glory – about how she brain sucked people… That whole idea just terrified me. I remember thinking – at least vampires just kill you. Getting your mind invaded seemed worse than death to me."

She was done crying.

Well, okay, Tara admitted to herself, that was bound to prove untrue. But she wasn't crying right now, and Buffy had been sitting with her for the past half hour, listening, talking, sharing and worrying. It was probably the longest conversation the two had ever had. 

She'd been feeling restless almost from the moment she left the house on Revello Drive, and as the evening progressed, Tara had felt more and more – off – like she was in the midst of some increasingly disturbing dream. 

Her nights at the crisis hotline were something she always looked forward to. Helping others, listening to their problems, helping them to find solutions or directing them to people who could; Tara enjoyed the work, feeling it was important and worthwhile. The hotline was connected to the UC-Sunnydale campus, and most of the callers were fellow students. Their problems ranged from the fairly non-scary-and-usually-not-life-threatening stresses over exams or papers or incompatible roommates, to the more troublesome worries about possible pregnancies, and from there into much deeper and more difficult problems; terrified rape victims, students considering suicide. Their problems, big or small, were important, and Tara found helping the callers very fulfilling. Her career goal was to work with abused children, and she knew her experiences at the hotline would help prepare her for that as well. 

And no matter how dire the problems poured into her ears, she often found them to be blessedly non-demon related, which was a nice break from a lot of the issues that touched other parts of her life.

But tonight, she'd wanted to leave even before the first call had come in. Her restlessness increased as the evening progressed, and by midnight she was feeling shaky with nerves, her stomach churning. Something was wrong. Very wrong. When she started to feel like she would going to start screaming, Tara had the sense to call in a substitute. Feeling as she did, she certainly wouldn't be of much help to anyone in trouble. _I'll go home, she thought. Everything will be fine, and maybe tomorrow I'll be able to laugh about how stupid I was. Like a big paranoid wuss, or something. That's how Xander would teasingly describe me if he saw me like this. _

Instead, she'd arrived home to find her disturbing dream turning into what was, literally, one of her worst nightmares. Even as she was walking up the sidewalk, the front door of the Summers home opened to reveal Mr. Giles, carrying a familiar form. At first she'd thought Willow was hurt, and with a little cry, she'd run up the porch steps to reach her. As soon as she touched a hand to her head, though, she'd known…

It was like she could smell it, feel it, sense it. 

Darkness. Evil. Bad, bad, bad.

It had surrounded her beautiful Willow like a shroud. 

Tara's mind had cried out in pain. _Oh god, Will, what have you done? What have you done?_

Because she'd _known_. This was not something that had been done_ to_ her lover. This was something Willow had done to herself, something she had _chosen_.

Why? Oh god, _why?_

Before Buffy's Watcher had driven off with a sleeping Willow ensconced in the passenger seat of his little red car, Tara was already asking herself the perhaps inevitable questions – Was it me? Was I not enough?

No, Tara told herself. _No. Don't even think of taking on the responsibilities for her actions. Willow was an adult, responsible for her own actions. _

_And you are a good person. You have worth.  You would be enough for anyone. Am I, though? _Yes._ Really? _Yes._ Self doubts caused the kind of internal debate she'd experienced often throughout her life._

_"I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone It, People Like Me!" God, how she and Willow had giggled over Stuart Smalley's mantra. But amused or not, they'd both admitted that they'd chanted it to themselves on more than one occasion._

Tara blinked away the freshly gathering tears.

Loved ones almost always wondered if there was something they could have done differently; if there was something they might have missed, which, if caught, might have averted disaster. Sometimes, there was, but it was often not the case. And she'd _done the things she should have, Tara reminded herself. She hadn't ignored Willow's increasingly disturbing behavior. She had spoken to her about it, more than once. Nor had the gang willingly looked away, hoping things would work themselves out. They'd __tried. They'd done an intervention. They'd made sure Willow understood how and why her actions were hurting or upsetting them, and had made __very sure she was aware of their love._

Sometimes, Tara reminded herself now, love just isn't enough.

And I love her so much. So much. 

Still.

Always.

Buffy's caring support tonight had been something of a surprise to Tara. It's not like she thought the Slayer was completely self-centered or anything…

Okay, maybe she did think that. A little. Or at least she had before Buffy had died. 

Even then, Tara had always tried very hard never to judge Buffy. The other girl could be rather – difficult – to get a handle on. Just when you thought you were beginning to understand her, another side of her, some unexpected facet, would be revealed. Willow had told her that Buffy had been 'easier' when she'd first moved to Sunnydale, but that time and circumstances had changed her, hardened her to some extent. Certainly, Willow had said, she'd drawn into herself more and more as the years passed.

Tara thought she could, on some level, understand that. To live the life Buffy did… The kind of stresses she lived with and under were bound to have deep and lasting effects on her. To be honest, Tara had often wondered how Buffy did it at all. Surrounded by death and violence as she was; living so much in the darkness; carrying the responsibilities she did… How did she even stay in the least sane?

"I was kind of hoping for a little time to rehearse what to say to you," Buffy had said after Mr. Giles left.

So, instead of some well thought out explanation of the evening's events, Tara had gotten a straightforward, factual account of what they knew, of what they didn't know, and of what speculations they'd made. She found herself glad Buffy hadn't had time to figure out a way to sugar-coat the story. Sometimes, it was better to get to the heart of a matter; to lay out all the horrible details, and try to absorb them. The events of September 11th had been one of those times, and Tara thought this was another. The scale was smaller; but, at least on a personal level, the emotional devastation was greater. 

They were sitting together in Mrs. Summers' old room, on the bed Tara had shared with Willow. Willingly, and then…

A kind of furious anger joined the pain flooding Tara. _Damn you, Willow! How could you? How could you do that to me?_ _ Invade me? My mind, my body, my will? I loved you, trusted you. I trusted you more than anyone I've ever known. And you betrayed me. _

_Used me.___

_ Abused me._

Her voice, though, only revealed her pain. "And a-after it h-happened to me – after Glory did that to me… We t-talked about it a lot. Willow knew how I felt. She _knew._" Tara squeezed the pillow she was clutching in her arms more tightly. "And she… Over and over, Buffy. How could she?"

There was no answer, and the other woman just shook her head. They'd been over this already, and Tara was simply reiterating her shock, her sorrow and the horrible disappointment she felt. She felt like she'd seen it coming, but maybe she'd never _really_ believed Willow would fall this far; that her sweet, smart, beloved girl would tumble so deeply into the abyss.

Buffy had assured her they were going to find some way to help Willow. _"She isn't the first person to take a trip to the darker side, Tara. We can help her. Somehow. I don't know how, yet, but there's gotta be a way. And we'll find it."  _

Could they really help? Tara wondered.  Oh god, I hope so. And I'll help, too. No matter what happened… She needs me now, probably more than I needed her after Glory…

"It's going to be so hard for her," she said, and she could see the expression in Buffy's eyes; the surprise that she could still consider Willow's needs at this point. "I know," Tara shook her head. "I should hate her for what she's done, but…"

"Believe me, I know what it's like to continue to love someone after they've given you every reason not to."

"Yeah," Tara acknowledged. She knew the story of Angel and Angelus. "I guess you do." She paused. "I hope, I hope…"

Her voice broke, and Buffy reached out to squeeze her hand. "I know. Me, too."

Tara made an attempt to turn the conversation away from Willow. "Have you talked to Angel? You know, since you came back?"

"No," Buffy admitted. "I was having some moderate to severe memory problems when I first came back, and, ah, I didn't really remember him for awhile."

"Oh, god!" Tara breathed out, shocked. "That must have been awful for you. And r-really weird."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "Once I – once I remembered everyone more clearly… I guess… I just haven't called him. I mean, you know, I love Angel. I always will. But, um, I haven't seen him for a long time. A long, long time. He came to mom's funeral, but we didn't have a lot of time, and the talking was pretty much limited to – mom. Maybe… I don't know, maybe whatever is between us has changed a little or something. It feels kinda different. Not so…"

"Heart breaking?" Tara suggested when Buffy seemed unable to find the word she wanted.

Buffy snorted without humor. "Yeah, maybe. Not so – intense. I don't know," she said again. "More – warm, maybe? Less stomach-flipping stuff?"

Tara's eyes widened. 

Oh my god, she thought. She's _over_ him. **_Buffy is over Angel._**

Did she know it? Realize it? Oh, wow, oh wow, Willow is going to be so surprised, so relieved. Happy. She'll be Snoopy dancing. She didn't think Buffy would ever get over him, would ever … 

Tara's thoughts broke off as she remembered she wouldn't be sharing this startling revelation with her lover. She swallowed and drew in a breath. 

Strong. 

I. Am. Strong.

I could be wrong about this, Tara reminded herself. I'm not, but I _could_ be. And Buffy might not even know it yet. Yes, she might still love Angel, might _always_ love him. She probably did, would. After all, he'd been her first love, and her first lover, and a pretty memorable one at that. From everything Willow had told her, their relationship had been fraught with danger and heavily laced with pain. She's bound to have strong feelings for him – maybe for the rest of her life. But she's not _in love_ with him anymore. At least, that's my guess. One I'd be willing to place a bet on, if I wasn't way too frugal with my miniscule amounts of money, even though I'm so sure I'm right that placing a few bets would probably give me tuition money for the rest of college… 

"You were really young when you met Angel," Tara said, her voice soothing. "And love can change over the years. Grow into a different kind of love. It – it doesn't mean it's any less important, or that the first kind of love wasn't real."

"I didn't feel so young," Buffy said.

"I don't suppose you did. Part of that might be because your life is a little unusual."

"No! Really?"

"Just a little," Tara smiled, nodding as though it had taken great wisdom to come to that conclusion.  "Not that you can't meet that one right person for you when you're young," Tara went on, needing Buffy to know for sure that she wasn't in any way dismissing the strength or real-ness of what the other woman had felt for Angel. "'Cause I think you can. M-my mom did." She rarely spoke about her mother. She'd been gone for a long time, but Tara missed her every day of her life, and still found it very difficult to talk about her.

"She met your dad when they were teenagers?" Buffy asked.

"No, not my dad. It was another guy. His name was Rob, but I really don't know much more about him. Only that there was something about him or about having a relationship with him that made mom hesitate. Some kind of risk, I guess. She never went into detail, but she used to tell me that I shouldn't be afraid to take a chance for love. That even failure was better than regrets. He died – some kind of accident, and a few years later, she married my dad."

Buffy studied her. "Do you?" she asked a minute later. "Have regrets? About Willow?"

Tara thought about that. Did she? Right now she felt so – betrayed – that mapping out the rest of her emotions wasn't easy. "Yes and no," she said at last. "I'm not sure 'regrets' is the right word. I certainly don't regret loving her. That was right. I – I don't think love is ever _wrong_. Not in and of itself. But I'm so angry. And hurt. My trust has been b-broken, and I just don't know if I can ever get that back. And I'm _furious_ with her for _that_. For taking that from me. It's almost worse than the – other stuff."

Tara took in Buffy's expression of surprise. "I – I can b-be f-furious you know," she stammered defensively.

If that's Buffy's attempt to look like she believes me, Tara thought, she's not very good at it.

"I can." Firmer now. She wasn't a wuss. She was a strong woman. _Roar._ She just wasn't as – demonstrative – as some of the other women currently in the room. Or verbal. Or scarily strong.

"I've heard that line about it being the quiet ones you have to watch out for," Buffy offered.

Tara tossed her head. "Yeah, and you'd b-better remember that, too."

Buffy laughed, but her voice was serious when she spoke again.

"I want you to know that just because I asked her to leave, that doesn't mean…"

"I know," Tara assured her. "I understand that she can't be here right now. It's – She needs to get help. She needs to _w-want help. She needs to realize…" Tara looked at her. "I wish I could understand how things went downhill so fast and so f-far. She'd been having trouble for awhile, you know. I think so many things have happened in her life that she couldn't change, couldn't control.  And then, after – after you, um… oh." Tara broke off and tried again. "A-a-after…"_

"Go on…" Buffy's tone encouraged her to get past the words.

"She seemed to develop this determination to keep us all from getting hurt. To s-stop pain. Her own pain. Her friends'. I think she wanted to start directing everyone's lives in little ways she thought would spare them. Like some protector or something. I tried to tell her that pain is a part of life, and that she needed to learn to deal with that – that she couldn't control everything so that no one felt pain. And that when they did, when _she did, she couldn't just magic it all away. Pain can be used to grow, too, to help us become stronger people…"_

Buffy's face twisted with a mixture of understanding and exasperation. "I don't know about you, but I could sooo go for some strengthening and growth that doesn't come from pain. 'Cause, you know – been there – majorly. More than once. Can't we, like, grow and get stronger from winning the lottery or something fun for a change? I mean, I've heard that sudden, unexpected, wealth can be a real challenge. I could so test that. Make challenge comparison graphs for research types in white lab coats. Or –oh, oh!" her eyes widened. "It doesn't have to be money. We could go a year without the threat of an apocalypse.  That would certainly throw changes into my life, and I bet I could grow from that! I would probably get stronger, too, if some power mad demon wasn't trying to kill me to death. Or maybe the Hellmouth could close and I could have to learn how to be a normal girl or something equally unlikely. I am totally ready to give anything along those lines a try."

Tara had to smile at Buffy's increasing animation and enthusiasm, acknowledging that she could go the pain free route herself for awhile. 

Please. 

Buffy stood. "It's really late, Tara. You should try to sleep. Do you want something – a Tylenol P.M. maybe, to help? That's what I gave Dawn." She rolled her eyes. "Not that I'm, um, trying to drug up everyone in the house."

"No. I really don't feel like putting anything in my body right now," Tara said. "I – I – It…" Tara took a deep breath. "It will take me a couple of weeks to find another place," she finally went on. Maybe longer, she thought to herself. Even if she waited 'til the end of the semester, mid-year housing changes weren't that easy to arrange. "Will that be okay?"

"What do you mean, another place?" Buffy looked stunned. "You're not going to move out, are you?"

"I – I thought you'd w-want me to."

"No! God, no! I want you to stay."

"Really?" That surprised her. She'd never really grown close to any of Willow's friends. They were kind of an insular group.

In fact, since her mother had died, Tara had never really felt like she fit in. She and Will had connected so well, so deeply, though, that even without feeling particularly close to the others, Tara had finally felt as if she belonged. Really _belonged.__ Wherever Willow was, she, Tara, was home. _

Or so she'd thought…

Tara bent her head and studied the pattern of the lace coverlet on the bed.

"Yes! And I kind of need you, Tara. To help. With Dawn, mostly," Buffy's voice was strong and sincere. "I have all that patrolling stuff, and you know I don't like to leave her alone at night, even though she's 'Not. A. Kid. For. God's. Sake.'" Buffy almost perfectly mimicked Dawn's exasperated mantra. "Plus, you know you're, like, the only one in the house who knows how to cook anything. Well, anything anyone would actually want to eat, anyway. Not that I want you to think I think of you as an Alice or anything like that. 'Cause I don't."

Tara nodded. It was always good to be needed. And she knew Buffy wasn't just saying these things to make her feel better. She _did _need help with Dawn. She certainly needed help with cooking. Maybe, even without Willow, the Summers house could continue to feel like home. 

"If you really mean it, I'd like to stay," she said.

"I really mean it."

"I, um, know I don't really fit in with you guys – the Slayer Circle."

"_I think you do," Buffy said. "The rest of us are kind of, I don't know, kind of weird, I guess. Sometimes I think you're our down-to-earth-o-meter." Buffy nodded, seeming satisfied with that description._

"It that Buffy-speak for 'mousy and boring'?"

"No!" Buffy sounded appalled. "Worlds of no! Entire galaxies of no! I just meant you kinda help us to stay sane. Well, I know you help me anyway, and that can be a pretty big job. Like, huge."

"I'm glad I serve a purpose." Especially after her earlier ponderings on how Buffy coped with her life, Tara had to agree that helping to keep the Slayer sane could be considered 'a pretty big job'. But, in her opinion, down-to-earth-o-meter still sounded a lot like mousy and boring.

"Tara, I like you. Honestly. Everyone likes you. Even Spike," Buffy told her. Then she added with television commercial animation, "And he hates everyone."

"Hey, Mikey!" Tara smiled, getting it. She didn't always get a lot of the general Scooby humor. But then, they didn't get much of hers either. A lot of the time, they weren't even aware she was attempting to _be_ humorous. She was getting used to it. "Does he?" she asked with genuine curiosity. Spike was often as mysterious to her as a lot of Xander's pop culture references.

"Yeah. I think you're the only one he gives a damn about. You know, me, you, Dawn, Giles maybe. The rest of the world could pretty much take a flying leap as far as he's concerned. He's got a long way to go on the whole embracing mankind thing."

"Well, a year or so ago, we were all _food _to him, except for maybe – _you_ – so I guess he's making progress."

"Yeah, progress," Buffy huffed. "Snaily type progress." Her eyes changed, grew thoughtful. "In that department, anyway," she added.

Tara watched her changing expression, trying to read it. She couldn't. "Glaciers move slowly, too. But they can change the face of the earth," she intoned solemnly.

Buffy's eyes went wide as soon as the words emerged, and she looked as startled as Tara felt. _Where had that come from?  Tara wondered. She'd never even __thought something like that before. Er, had she? The women stared at each other, their faces clearly revealing how taken aback they both were by Tara's statement. _

"Okay, um, th-that was weird," Tara said, frowning a little. She shook herself. "What were we talking about?" she asked.

"Ah…" Buffy frowned too, and Tara could almost see her brain clicking away, trying to remember. "You – fitting in, staying, my constant struggle for sanity." Buffy shrugged. "Just stuff like that. You will, then, right? Stay?"

A little to her surprise, _again, Tara could see that it was actually important to Buffy. _

"I – I'd like that."

The Slayer's relief was plain. "Good."

Tara allowed her own small sigh of relief to escape once Buffy closed the door. Being needed wasn't the same as being loved, but then, nothing really was. 

When they'd first brought Buffy back, she'd assumed that she and Willow would move out of Casa de Summers. Willow had insisted Buffy would need them, though, and Tara had supposed the two had discussed it. She had to admit, too, that Buffy had seemed so disoriented in those first couple of weeks, that it was probably a pretty good thing that they'd stayed on.

She'd never felt particularly comfortable with Buffy in the past. Their personalities were so different… Since the resurrection, though, she found it easier to spend time with the other girl, who seemed a little less – volatile. 

And, of course, she loved Dawnie. Tara would hate to leave for that reason alone. She honestly felt she had something important to offer Dawn, a girl who had endured far more trauma in the last year or so than anyone – her age or _any age – should __ever have to endure. _

God, the first few weeks after Buffy's death had been awful. Wracked with pain at the loss of her sister, the 'last' member of her family, and guilt over her belief that Buffy's death was her fault, that if it hadn't been for her mystical presence… Dawn had told her repeatedly that she knew she should have been the one to jump. That she knew that's what was _supposed_ to have happened. The girl had been in terrible pain. On top of her grief and guilt about Buffy and her continuing mourning of her mother, Dawn had been, for a time, furiously angry at Spike's desertion, and then, when he was found, deeply fearful for his safety. 

The many strong emotions tugging the girl in a variety of directions had not always manifested themselves in appropriate ways. Without conceit, Tara knew her own personality had had a somewhat calming influence on the teenager. Curtailing Dawn's tantrums and whining tendencies alone had earned her the gratitude of everyone.

Tara lay back against the pillows, pulling the blankets up around her. 

She was pretty sure the pain and betrayal she was feeling had already pushed her to the limits of what she could endure emotionally, and Tara was glad she didn't have to deal with the stress of moving as well. She hated feeling unsettled.

~*~

It bloody well shouldn't have taken him more than two hours to find this place. It wasn't the kind of demon hang out he'd ever chosen to frequent, but he still should have been able to detect it easily, and by the time he was finally in, he was annoyed as hell. He tried to tell himself that the power dealer had been in the midst of relocating and so had thrown him off his game. 

'Course, it could just be that his nostrils were still full of his Slayer's scent. And his own, for that matter. After all, he hadn't exactly had time to shower since he'd been participating in all kinds of delicious acts with his Slayer on the sofa, had he?

Let's see; engage in sexual decadence; experience something completely mind-blowing, _what the hell had that been, and how soon could they do it again?, while kissing loved one's delectable throat; rescue, console, and debrief little sis, _who'd done a bloody good job of defending herself, and keeping her wits about her, he reminded himself with pride_; gather containment and relocation unit for power mad witch friend; head out to torture demon who is a potential source of information on creature that went after the aforementioned little sis__ and on whatever the hell was going on with the bleedin' witch…_

Is this what Buffy's life was always like? Spike wondered. No wonder she'd been running on empty before – before Glory, and the tower…

Even though he'd been sitting upstairs with the sleeping Dawn during Willow's rambles and rants, he'd still heard most of what the redhead had said, and he knew she'd been unwilling to name the power dealer she'd visited. Knowing there were only a few in town, though, Spike considered the broken lamp in the waiting room a pretty good indicator that he'd found the right one. Dawn was right, it had been ugly. If he was still choosing his accessories from heaps of garbage at the dump, he definitely would have given it a miss. Flashing a hint of fang at some wussy Mzgora demon seated amid the shards of orange glass – _was there really a need for that color to exist? – had given him a name._

Rack.

He'd heard of him. Some rumblings about town. The bloke had been on the Hellmouth for a couple of years, and fancied himself an important player in the power struggles that took place from time to time in the hotbed of evil that was Sunnydale. 

Stupid git. Like anyone but his Slayer had any real power here… 

'Course there was always the occasional demon that came along with some sodding vision or something. They inevitably learned that no power but that of the Chosen One was lasting on the Hellmouth.

Spike's mouth quirked. His lady was one fierce warrior. Just for a moment he allowed to mind to fill with visions of his Slayer in full out battle, powerful and deadly. Yeah… fierce. He forced himself to shake away the delightful images just as his brain started to go hazy with pleasure.

Later, he promised himself. He'd – indulge – for awhile.

The Mzgora demon had no problem with Spike moving ahead of him in the 'queue' to see the big man, but the vampire was forced to beat in the face of the N'a Ndibb-le demon, and outright kill the R'Ashaka-R'Babe demon (close cousin to the R'Ashaka-R'Habe demon, _less slime, more stench, but often only distinguishable if you got close enough to notice the different color of the third eye_), in order to make sure he'd be next to get in. The blond wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth and licked it from the back of his hand. As it usually did, the violence soothed him to some extent. Good thing, too. The degree of control the brief battle had lent him might well be needed during the meeting to come.

Just as he was about to kick in the door he judged most likely to be separating him from the power dealer, it opened, revealing the deeply scarred face of the bloke he assumed to be Rack.  He might have delusions of grandeur, Spike thought, but, in his opinion, if the tosser had any real power, he should have used a bit of it to conjure himself up a new face. Not many birds went for that 'I've been carved up with loving care by an expert' look. Spike mentally shrugged. To each his own.

Rack's eyes swept around the room, barely pausing on the dead R'Ashaka-R'Babe, whose lavender blood was pooling around him on the floor. "You," he decided, nodding toward the N'a Ndibb-le demon. The dark haired bint threw a look of triumph at Spike, and took a step forward.

"Nooo," Spike drawled out, unmoving. "Me."

Rack looked at him with disdain. "You have nothing to offer me, vampire. Your kind always retains that taint of human blood. Makes you relatively worthless."

"Is that right?" Spike asked calmly.  He studied his nails. "Maybe I heard wrong, but I got wind there were certain humans that interested you a good bit." 

Rack's eyes narrowed briefly before shooting to the vampire's white blond hair. As the N'a Ndibb-le demon moved to enter the inner sanctum, Rack's arm shot out, barring her. 

"No," he changed his mind, and inclined his head toward Spike. "Him." 

The N'a Ndibb-le demon snarled, but Spike barely took the time to smirk at her before shouldering past Rack and moving into the room beyond. Hair's like a soddin' name badge sometimes, he thought. 

"You're Spike," Rack said, closing the door, and sealing the two of them into the privacy of the large room. 

"Knew that," Spike mouthed automatically as his eyes drifted about, taking in the lush, colorful fabrics, the highly piled mounds of pillows, and the distinctly Middle Eastern flavor of the carved wooden tables. Dealer seemed to have something of a Sultan fetish.

"I wondered how long it would take for you to show up."

"Been expecting me, then?"

"Strawberry girl's a friend of the Slayer. Thought she might send her pet demon to check me out."

Noting the satisfaction in the other's voice, Spike briefly considered feigning ignorance of Willow's earlier visit, but decided against it. "Not here to talk about the witch," he said coolly. Had he been _counting_ on his appearance?  And why? "She doesn't interest me as much as she apparently interests you."

Rack's brows rose.

"You're the first dealer I've ever come across that wanted to dip into human power, but if that's your cup of tea…" Spike's voice trailed off. His tone indicated he found Rack's interest in Willow unfathomable, and a waste of time on the dealer's part.  "I'm tracking a Vpastus'zyn demon myself," he went on. "Thing went after a friend of mine, and I don't take kindly to that. It was seen here earlier."

Rack looked confused.  This clearly wasn't what he'd expected, and Spike wondered again what the demon _had been expecting. _

"Only know one Vpastus'zyn demon," Rack told him. "He hasn't been here for awhile, though.  If he stopped in tonight, I didn't see him, and wasn't expecting him."

"They've been known to hire themselves out. Fancy themselves assassins."

Rack snorted. "Can't imagine anyone wasting their money, or anything else, hiring someone to kill a _vampire._" 

Spike's eyes glinted. _Vampire?_ He'd merely specified a 'friend'. Did Rack not know Dawn had been here earlier with Willow? Or was he merely trying to lead him to believe that? Would a power dealer have such an arrogant, and deeply stupid, lack of security?

Depended on how arrogant and deeply stupid the particular dealer _was, Spike supposed._

 "And I'm not into hired assassins," Rack went on dismissively. "I prefer a more – hands on – approach to solving any problems that might come up. Any – threats – to my plans, so to speak."

Doubts remained, of course, but Spike was leaning in the direction of believing him. Something was telling him this guy really _didn't _know about Dawn's earlier presence, and he was now willing to bet that the Vpastus'zyn demon had taken a shine to Dawn by chance, or that someone else had pointed it in his girl's direction.  

He made a show of looking the fellow over thoroughly. 

"I'll just be toddling off then," he said, moving toward the door. As he'd expected, Rack wasn't yet ready for the meeting to be over.

 "You underestimate the witch," he said, and waited for Spike to turn back to him.  "She stirred up some powerful forces a few months back. Drew some attention." Rack settled into one of his pillow piles. He lay back, gazing up at the high ceiling. "She's gonna be a force to be reckoned with herself. She's not there yet, but I can taste it in her. Just a little nurturing..." He shivered with pleasurable anticipation. "I was asked to help her along, help her discover all her secret depths." 

Fuck! The bloody witch had attracted _attention. _There were some types that it just didn't pay to have notice you, and Spike knew without speculating further that that was gonna be the soddin' case with Red. 

Sonofabloodybitch! 

His fury with Willow grew with this news, because he was bloody sure this development increased the level of danger to his girls. 

_Attention._

Son. Of. A. Bloody. Bitch.

He knew there was no way he could persuade his Slayer to cut Willow adrift in the sea of her own problems, and accept what protection that distance might provide. Even though she might be feeling a bit detached from her right now, Red was loved by Buffy and the rest of the group, and there was no way that lot would abandon her to the untender mercies of any of Rack's cohorts. They were far too tight. Spike didn't always agree with that sense of loyalty, but, on some level, he understood it. The Scoobies, no matter how he disparaged them, publicly or privately, were closer than many groups of friends would ever be. They had faced death and danger together, over and over, and experiences like that changed friendships, deepened ties. 

Even though he hated the soulful git, he couldn't deny that some of his own ties to Angelus, or, for that matter, to Dru or even to that whore Darla, had been forged in similar vein, that the four of them…

Spike let the thought slide. Thinking about the years the four of them had shared never left him with anything but unresolved anger and rage, and more pain than he ever cared to admit. Right now, he needed to avoid distractions and stay focused on the situation at hand.

Rack was eyeing him, waiting for his reaction. When Spike stayed silent, he went on, a look of pure lust on his face. "Gonna be a real treat delving into all her dark places, watching her discover them, explore them. Holding her hand – and all her other parts – the whole trip. Been a long time since I was asked to help fuck blackness into someone's soul."

"Is that right?" Spike thought he knew why. Wanker had said too much already, and looked as though he was about to start blithering on like a Bond villain. Had Willow been shagging this worthless excuse for a demon? That couldn't be good. Or was Rack only yammering about what he hoped was to come? Spike let that go. He was far more interested in learning just whose attention the redhead had attracted. "Who was it asked you to grab on to all her luscious bits, anyway?"

"Ahhh," Rack grinned. "Can't say. He likes to stay in the background. But my guess is that you'll meet him. Eventually. Him. Them. They'll be coming, you know. They come at you through your family. It's sort of their modus operandi. Get to your family. All that power…" Rack trailed off, the thought of great power seeming to send him into an almost orgasmic state. "I believe," he drawled, "They have a proposition for you."

"Yeah? I don't have much in the way of family for them to come at me through," Spike said dryly.

Rack waved his hand. "Won't need one." He sounded certain. "Forget them. I have some power myself. If you're interested, we don't have to wait for anyone else to show up. We can strike a deal now."

"Not particularly big on deals. They tend to go sour."

"You'll be interested in this one. I know what you want, vampire. And I can give it to you."

Spike quirked a brow. "An' what would that be?"

Rack laughed at his derogatory tone. "You think I don't know, but I do. Little bits of plastic and silicon…"

Spike went still, his eyes narrowing.

"I can get that bothersome military implant taken care of for you. Set you free."

Spike kept his expression neutral, but he could feel a kind of euphoric anticipation flooding his body, racing like wildfire through his veins. God, how often had he dreamt of this chance, hungered for it? _Free._ Free to hunt again. To feed… Oh, god, to feed… warm human blood, fresh, flowing down his throat, burning through his body, warming him, making him…

Would it have some flavor, he wondered, if he drank directly from a living, dying body?

His fist clenched. He wanted it. _He bloody well wanted it._ Craved it.

It had been months since blood had given him any satisfaction. His Slayer's blood had ruined him. Nothing else offered anything worth tasting. An' he'd tried. He'd ordered up a wide assortment of human blood types at the demon bars, trying out the rarer types, those supposed delicacies. _Nothing.__ He'd even dropped in at a Red Cross blood drive at City Hall one night a few weeks before Buffy's return. A smorgasbord of fresh blood, just removed from living bodies, still warm, lots of variety. Surely… He'd nicked half a dozen bags and taken them back to his crypt to savor in private, sure they'd offer him __something._

Nothing. No flavor, no power, no – 

Nothing.

The Red Cross jaunt had left him furious, and, as he'd grown accustomed to doing in his Buffyless world, he'd taken his fury out on a random group of rough-necked demons, killing them brutally, before unleashing his remaining fury on himself; fists into bricks. Spike glanced at his hands now, flexing them experimentally. They always healed, of course, but they seemed rougher now, harder and more calloused. There were even some lingering scars. Over time, they, too, would fade.

He swallowed. 

If the chip stayed in… Would the memory of his Slayer's blood someday fade, too, restoring flavor to some other blood? _Any_ other blood?

If the chip came out… Would the fear he could instill during a kill flavor the blood, make it more palatable?

What if it didn't? What if even that, even then…?

_Nothing.__ No flavor, no power…_

Sometimes he had to force himself to feed at all. 

 "How?" he asked Rack bluntly.

"Told you, I have power," Rack gave him a sneering smile.

Wanker is enjoying this, Spike thought. Wants to jerk me around, and I gave him the power to do just that by voicing one simple question – _'How?'_

Spike turned away from Rack, attempting to regain some ground, and showing him his contempt and lack of respect by willingly turning his back to him. Again. He began to wander about the room, eyes alert for anything interesting while his mind whirled.

Whirled right back to reality.

S'not like he could hunt again, even if the chip was out, he reminded himself. Not if he wanted any chance of stayin' in his Slayer's life. A bit different or not since her stint in heaven, it was sure as bleedin' hell she'd never put up with him being back on the sauce. 

And the bit? Spike tried to shrug away a vivid picture of the expression he knew would be on Dawn's face if he killed again, and she found out. He could _see_ it – the look in her eyes; knew exactly how she would stare at him… The shock and horror. 

The disappointment. 

The_ betrayal_. 

_And the fear._

_Sonofabloodybitch__! I'm a vampire. It's what I **am. And I would never hurt ****her, hurt ****them. Either one of them. **_

Spike tried harder to push away his thoughts of Dawn. It was easier to concentrate on Buffy. Dawn was vulnerable, and _his, and he'd sworn to protect her. Didn't ever want to have to protect her from _himself_. He wouldn't have to, he assured himself. Chip or no, he was bloody well in control of his own damned actions. He'd never harm his girl. _

Thinking about Buffy's reaction was different. He loved her in a different way. And she was strong. Powerful. _The Slayer. He might harbor feelings of protectiveness toward her, but they weren't the same as those he felt toward Dawn. _

His brain kept telling him that he'd be a fool to think Buffy could ever really go for him, that whatever this was that seemed to be happening between them was bound to blow up in his face the next time he turned around. Didn't seem to matter, though. His heart bloody well had a mind of its own. Always had. 

He didn't know how things would play out between him and Buffy, but right now, possibilities were flowing between them in torrents. Something was happening between them, to them... something he didn't understand. And whatever that was that had happened on the sofa earlier? Couldn't wait to see if _that _was gonna be a regular feature. 

Spike felt a brief recurrence of the incredible sensation run through him, and his body clenched. He'd never experienced anything remotely like that, didn't have a sodding clue what it was all about. But it didn't matter. He knew he wanted to feel it again, more than… more than _anything_. _More_ than the hunt, _more than killing, more than… Wanted to be back inside her that way, to be a part of her, to feel her moving though his body, through _him_, all through him… _

Bloody hell! Just thinking about it damn well made him want to head back over to Revello Drive right quick.

Even as the emotional desire flared into physical, he reminded himself that he should bloody well be furious with her at the moment, oh she of the notoriously oft-sampled throat. Dracula, drinking from her. Angelus. The Master. Her throat had been a bleedin' fount of pleasure. To everyone but _him._ The lingering rage stirred things in him. Dark things. His demon was screaming, urging him to sink his fangs into her throat, leave his mark on her, with her, in her. _Possession. The demon, like his heart, had a mind of its own, and its instincts were strong and deep, insistent. Hard to ignore, or fight off. _

_Takehertakehertakehertakeher__.___

Take her throat, her blood, take her body, too. Make her yours. 

_Yours.___

He clenched his fist. Shouldn't be lusting after the bint's tight little body right now, he told himself. Even the demon should damned well know that. Unfortunately for the bits of rage he'd managed to hang onto after loosing most of it against Buffy's mouth on the porch after he'd stormed out of the house, _that_ thought reminded him that he'd yet to experience just how tight that luscious little body _was._

_Fuck. His body surged… She'd taunted him once with words about her Slayer muscles…_

The tantalizing possibility of blood with flavor, or the tantalizing possibility of Buffy.

Even without the vision of Dawn's eyes haunting him, it was no bleeding contest at all.

He glanced back at Rack, at the bloke's marked, avid face. Could he read minds? During a century with Dru, Spike had developed a pretty keen ability to detect if someone was trying to wriggle into his thoughts, and he didn't sense anything from this lowlife, but he'd be a fool to take any chances. He forced his mind away from his Slayer's body and the recently experienced occurrences involving it, and back to the subject at hand. 

He was here, and Rack seemed to be settling in for a nice long natter. Might as well get as much information as he could.

"An' you wanna use that power to play doctor with my noggin', huh? Imagine you'll be wanting something in exchange for that."

Rack settled into his pillows more deeply. "You could be a powerful ally. People talk about you." His hands made little motions. "Whispers of fear, grumbles of outrage. A bit unpredictable, they say, but I don't think that's always a bad thing." He turned his head, running his small eyes up and down Spike's well-muscled body. "And you have interesting friends. Makes you even more – intriguing."

"And you're interested in my interesting friends, is that it?"

"Oh, yeah, blondie. Very interested."

"Why's that, exactly?"

"For fuck's sake, vampire, she's the Slayer! Why do you think we'd be interested?"

"I like things spelled out."

"Helps if I use words of one syllable, too, doesn't it?" Rack sneered.

"If they're the only ones you know," Spike tilted his head agreeably.

Rack snorted in acknowledgement of the one-upmanship. "Power." He linked his hands behind his head and reclined with a smile of anticipation. "She has it. We want it."

Sonofabloodybitch. Power. Dealer. "You have some method to steal her power?"

"Oh, we don't want to steal it. We want it aaaall in her." He sounded blissful. "Much more satisfying that way. She keeps the power, and we, ah – persuade her – to use it – for us."

Well, that was fairly original. Brilliant really. Wasn't gonna work, but it was ingenious, just the same.  

"Might be troublesome," he said carefully.

"Ah, but forcing a warrior of light to work for the dark side – very satisfying emotionally. Lots of demons get off on it you know. And to force a _Slayer_ into darkness… Worth a _lot _of trouble. We'll own her. We can hire her out, use her strength, use _her_ to increase our own power, our fortunes."

"And where do I fit in?"

"While the details are being worked out, you can observe. Give us information."

"You want me to spy on the Slayer?"

"Among other things."

Rack's voice changed, became more respectful, and more – _persuasive._

"I've talked to a few demons that shared some of your experiences with the Initiative. They told me that you blamed the Slayer for that chip going in. Spent half the time in your cell ranting about her. There's some talk that you've gone over to her side, but I don't buy it. You're a demon. We don't talk strolls on the side of goodness and light." He chuckled. "Especially vampires. The light tends to be so – destructive – to them. So I think I've got you figured. You're a little smarter than most of your ill-begotten kind. You're keeping your enemy close. Lulling her into a sense of security by fighting at her side, making promises to her. What does it matter to you? You can't kill humans. Killing your own kind might not help you to win friends and influence people, but killing is killing, right? 

"And I've looked into your history. I know you've made some attempts to hook up with someone else who can destroy her." Rack paused, before declaring with great self importance. "I'm your man."

"You? Or your mysterious partner?"

"Told you. Forget them. You're dealing with _me." Rack rolled to his feet, obviously annoyed. "We want her alive, to savor her fall, so I can't let you kill her. But don't try to tell me you won't take great pleasure in her destruction. I won't believe you."_

This wanker might keep saying he was acting for himself, but almost every word out of his mouth belied that. _We.__ Our. Definitely a team effort._

"That's what's in this for me? Pleasure? Not real tangible, that. And I'm guessing there's more. What happens after I help you lead the bint into corruption? Something tells me you'll expect me to hang about, playing minion to your boss. You should know – I'm not good at kowtowing. Doesn't suit me."

"Your chip will be out," Rack reminded him. "You'd be free to do whatever you want, wherever. We could use your muscle, though, and we'd like you to stay. Share the power. And there's going to be a_ lot_ of power to share. Just think – here on the Hellmouth, Slayer fighting to protect us rather than keep us from being ourselves. Gonna be an amazing experience. We wouldn't force you to stay, but if you do, there'd be – perks."

Spike's brow rose again.

"In exchange for us denying you the pleasure of making this Slayer your third, we're prepared to offer – compensation. And I think you'll like it. You might find it a much more lasting pleasure than killing her, in fact. After all, the joy of the kill can be so fleeting." Rack poured himself a drink. He didn't bother to offer one to Spike. "You've tasted slayer blood," he said slowly. "Ambrosia, I've heard. And a source of power for your kind. I can offer you that – a steady diet of it. Hers. Let you feed on her whenever you want. So long as you don't weaken her too much." His eyes narrowed, and ran down Spike's body again. "Whatever else you want from her, too." 

Rack swallowed his drink and poured himself another. "And her friends…" he offered, almost as an afterthought. "We'll keep a couple of them alive, and you can tear the rest apart if you'd like. Tangible enough for you?" His voice had taken on a sneer again. "If you're interested in anything you can't touch – know this. Your reputation will be enhanced. People will fear you." He paused. "It's a good way to live."

"And if I agree to this, you'll perform some brain surgery. You licensed for that?" Spike asked with interest. "Wouldn't wanna let just anyone muck about with my little gray cells."

"You'll be happy with the results," Rack assured him.

"Funny thing," Spike said. "Worked before with a bloke who made promises. Did what he asked me to do. But when it came time for him to follow through on getting the chip out, he reneged. Why should I trust you?"

"The chip can come out right away," Rack offered negligently. "A gesture of good will. But then you'd have to play it our way. Keep the Slayer and her pals from knowing you're no longer imprisoned by that plastic."

"For how long?"

Rack looked away. "Don't know exactly. It looks like it might be sometime in the Spring. The timing is – under negotiation."

"It's an intriguing plan," Spike told him. "I can see where it would prove popular with some types. Satisfying. I'm afraid you might run into a bit of a snag, though."

Rack's interested look told him that this was exactly what they wanted from him; his insight into the Slayer, his help in making it all a reality. 

"Have you actually _met_ this Slayer?" Spike asked. "She's not really the corruptible type. And she's gonna kick your collective arses, too."

"Ah…" Rack looked pleased. "We're not worried about that. We'll have a nice little ace in the hole."

Spike could feel himself going cold.

"What's that?"

"The friends. Slayers aren't supposed to have them, and there's a very good reason for that. We know they're her weak point. Wanting to gather in those friends is one of the reasons we're interested in the witch. Strawberry has her own potential, but her closeness to the Slayer and her friends makes her particularly valuable. And you. You can both help. Round up those who matter together, and bring them to us. 

"And," he smiled. "If the friends don't seem to have the magic touch, the sister will. Shiny hair, big blue eyes? I have it on good authority the Slayer will die to protect her. We're willing to bet she'll do – other things – as well. Anything to stop the sound of little sister's screams in the next room." 

He'd been able to retain his cool while this wanker talked about Buffy. Lots of demons liked to talk big about the Slayer. How they were gonna destroy her. He didn't recall any others conspiring to blackmail the Slayer into providing protection to the dark side, so to speak, but just the same, Spike was used to the tough guy bragging, which he'd heard dozens of times over the years. Hell, he'd instigated it often enough back in the day. He didn't much care for hearing it now, but he _was_ used to it. And, these days, when he was subjected to it, it usually gave him the opportunity to twist some mouthy demon's head off, which always made for a real good time. 

It had been a mistake, though, for the longhaired demon to bring the defenseless Dawn, who had already been attacked tonight, into the conversation. And it was the last one the bleedin' pillock would ever make.

_"When I screamed, he laughed."_ Dawn's words echoed in his mind. She hadn't been talking about this piece of scum, but whoever it was that had laughed at his girl's terror, this sonofabitch was an associate of his. And this sonofabitch wanted to make her scream again.

Fury walked in the door, and his always tenuous control flew out the window. His voice was low, and ice cold. "No one threatens my girls."

"_Your girls…"_ Rack repeated, laughing. "You _are _an odd one, are–"

The demon's words suddenly stilled, and he looked down.

Spike's fist was tightly clenched around Rack's black heart, which he had just pulled out of his chest. He raised the bloody organ up, holding it directly in front of Rack's face as he closed his fist around it, and squeezed.

By the time the meat of the heart oozed through Spike's fingers, though, Rack was already dead.

"Yeah," Spike said, his mouth twisting with vicious satisfaction. "I'm an odd one."

~*~

She'd felt him inside her, had felt herself moving all through him. They'd been a part of each other. And, later, she'd been able to hear him clearly in her mind, even though he hadn't spoken.

She'd felt him inside her, had felt herself moving all through him. They'd been a part of each other. And, later, she'd been able to hear him clearly in her mind, even though he hadn't spoken.

She'd felt him inside her, had felt herself moving all through him. They'd been a part of each other. And, later, she'd been able to hear him clearly in her mind, even though he hadn't spoken.

Damn, damn, damn. Buffy got out of bed and flounced into the bathroom, aggravated by the unending repetition of her thoughts. Minutes later she was in the shower. She was never going to get any sleep tonight – today – anyway. She turned her face up to the spray, letting the hot water cascade over her.

She'd felt him inside her, had felt herself moving all through him. They'd been a part of each other. And, later, she'd been able to hear him clearly in her mind, even though he hadn't spoken.

_What was happening to them?_

~*~

**Author's Note**

Just a quick note this time to let everyone know I'm not in hibernation, I'm not mad at anyone, or refusing to get in contact with those who've been trying to contact me. I am just continuing to experience disgusting computer problems. The result is that my writing time has been severely curtailed, and my online time has practically become non-existent. I've been writing by hand, then trying to borrow people's computers, etc. to transfer new parts into the story. I'm living in fear that I'll lose changes as I switch from one computer to another. It's extremely frustrating.

I think my computer problems will be taken care of in the next couple of weeks with a new machine. I hesitate to be too optimistic, though, because getting a new computer a few months ago only seemed to make matters worse. Grrr…

Deb and Sue – I wish I could have met you in Chicago. It sounds like you had a great time. One of our neighbors was killed in an accident that previous Friday, and I had a funeral to go to. Next time, please!

Rbabe – I've corrected the mistake I made in an earlier chapter involving a certain demon name. You'll find it. I realized my error, but not until the chapter was up all over. I wish I'd known you were going to be at Nationals! Wasn't it amazing? And The Daughter and I had this big room. We totally could have gotten together! LOL. Live Journal? Others have mentioned it. With my current computer problems I'm going to have to say 'no', but I will keep your offer in mind if my circumstances change. Thank you!

Kirs – You note about Riley's 'abilities' cracked me up. And I have no intension whatsoever of changing one single thing in the text. That mistake was just plain meant to be.

If you've asked to be put on my update list, and did NOT receive a notification for this chapter, that means your request is among those lost in one of my computer disasters! (Along with pretty much all the feedback sent directly to me for chapters ten and eleven! – insert visual of Mary pouting here.) Please send your request again!

As always, thank you so much to everyone who has sent notes. I appreciate every one so much.

Mary

August 3, 2003


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